


There’s A Place For Us

by smithpepper



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon compliant-ish, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Trauma, a good old fashioned eyeball hunt, if Togashi kills off Kurapika I’m leaving the solar system, kurapika needs a nap, nobody said Leorio was perfect, please let me have this self-indulgent nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-07-06 19:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15892953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithpepper/pseuds/smithpepper
Summary: Tired of worrying about Kurapika, Leorio hatches a plan to keep him safe. (Set somewhere between the York Shin and Dark Continent arcs.)





	1. something in your voice

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first Hunter x Hunter story, and while I am also currently in the middle of writing an endlessly long cowboy bebop fic, I just have too many Kurapika Feelings coursing through my veins at the moment to not use them for something. I’ve been really inspired by a lot of thoughtful and interesting leopika-based stories on here, so I hope you enjoy my take on this relationship. title is a lyric from the beautiful song “Somewhere” by Leonard Bernstein.

Leorio’s five whiskeys deep when the idea comes to him. He’s sitting at the hotel bar, mulling things over and unwinding after a long day at a medical conference, and all at once everything clunks into place.

He runs a hand over his stubbly face. Inhales sharply. Stares at the ceiling.

It could work. Maybe. It isn’t a lie, really; in fact, it might even turn out to be true. But if he can pull it off, if things go according to this plan he’s hatching, does it matter in the end?

Leorio drains his glass and pulls his cell phone out of his coat pocket as the whiskey burns its way down his throat. His fingers hover over Kurapika’s contact as he deliberates for a moment. He’s so tired of hearing Kurapika’s no-nonsense voicemail greeting, and he’s long since abandoned the idea of Kurapika actually picking up the phone. Months of failed attempts have taught him that much.

Still, he keeps calling.

He fills his lungs with air like he’s about to dive underwater and dials. There’s a low hum of clinking glasses and chattering customers surrounding Leorio, and he presses the phone to his ear to listen to nine, ten, eleven distant-sounding rings play out before the voicemail picks up.

“Kurapika Kurta. State your name and business.”

Leorio’s a bit tipsy—okay, fine, he’s good and drunk—and even this curt recording of Kurapika’s voice makes his heart race. He takes a shaky breath to steady himself.

“Yo, Kurapika. It’s me. Uh, it’s Leorio. But you knew that already. I know ‘m calling you too much, but, heh...”

He’s already rambling; he exhales through his teeth in a hiss and tries again.

“Listen. I know you’re thinking about hanging up. But. There’s a guy. At this conference I’m at. Well. I don’t wanna say too much over the phone, but...”

He glances around the bar and lowers his voice covertly. Nobody’s paying him any attention, absorbed in their drinks and dates and electronics, but he can’t be too careful.

“He’s an ophthalmologist. An eye doctor. I went to his lecture today on the topic of human biodiversity and he referenced his private collection once or twice and...listen, you get the idea, I’ve got a lead for you, Kurapika, so just...just call me back for once, okay?” Leorio finishes in a rush, hanging up and thrusting his phone deep into his pocket.

Suddenly drained, he slumps forward and catches his flushed face in his hands. The pretty bartender breezes by with the check and a wink. Any other time Leorio would gladly flirt his way into another drink and maybe a room key, but right now his mind is a million miles away from anything of the sort. He fishes out a wad of crumpled Jenni without bothering to do the math and untucks his lanky legs from underneath the bar. Weaving slightly, he makes his way out of the dimly lit lounge towards the lobby elevators. The pattern of the hotel carpet scintillates and blurs before his eyes as he walks, and he cringes as he feels the beginning of a pounding headache setting in. Tomorrow will be awful; he’s expected to attend twelve hours of lectures and presentations at the conference. A hangover will make the day interminable, but it’s still worth it, Leorio reassures himself. He needed some liquid courage to work up the nerve to leave yet another message.

His phone is cranked as loud as it goes, but Leorio can’t keep himself from checking the screen compulsively as he rides the creaky elevator up to his 19th floor room. There’s a cheerfully misspelled text from Gon _(Hi Leorio! Have yu ever eaten whale island oisters? They r sooooo good. We have to eat some with you me Killua and Koorapica next time! O.k. bye!)_ and a reminder email from his student loan company, but no missed calls or texts or emails from Kurapika. He’d take a smoke signal at this point.

Leorio collapses fully clothed onto his hotel bed and groans. Kicking off his shoes, he places one large foot on the carpet to steady his spinning head. He tugs a pillow over his eyes with one hand while loosening his tie with the other. He should hang his suit up neatly and shower and shave and review his notes for tomorrow, but he’s well and truly fucked for the night.

 _I hope he’s not angry,_ Leorio thinks before he loses consciousness and starts to snore. _I hope he understands._

* * *

 Leorio oversleeps through three alarms and wakes up furious at himself. His suit is wrinkled from sleeping in it, and he doesn’t have time to do anything besides splash cold water on his face and run a comb through his hair. It’s not until he’s grabbing a cup of takeaway coffee in the lobby and sprinting towards the conference rooms that he remembers his phone call last night. Before he walks into the conference room he ducks into a hallway and pulls out his phone, hands trembling slightly.

_2 Missed Calls - Kurapika Kurta_

That’s a first. His stomach flips over. A group of young doctors push past him into the conference room, yammering about the lecture topics of the day (rare tropical diseases and public health campaigns in the Lurka region). He punches the redial button and waits, sipping his too-hot coffee.

Kurapika picks up after two rings, and Leorio is so surprised that he drops his coffee onto his feet. He holds in a stream of expletives as Kurapika starts to speak.

“Hello, Leorio. I received your message,” he says, formal as ever. “Are you available to discuss this matter?”

“Of course I am,” Leorio says, too excited to be annoyed by Kurapika’s perpetual lawyer-speak. He kneels down and retrieves his coffee cup from the soggy carpet. “I always am.”

“Right,” Kurapika says vaguely. “I appreciate your willingness to share information with me. Do you think you could give me the contact information for this Dr. Xavier? I’d like to begin tracking him as soon as possible.”

“Oh,” Leorio says, scratching his stubbly cheek, “well, I figured you could fly out and we can work together. I’m still at this conference for three more days, and he lives in my home country. I won’t get in your way or anything,” he adds quickly. “But I’m happy to help.”

“That won’t be necessary. I can’t ask you to endanger yourself on my behalf.”

“I can look after myself just fine. Don’t worry about me,” Leorio replies, and Kurapika emits a crackly sigh on the other line.

“I’m busy, Leorio. If this is a wild goose chase, I really don’t have time—”

“It’s not. I promise. I’ll fly you out. Just give me your email and where you’re leaving from. Where are you, anyways?”

Kurapika is silent for so long that Leorio is afraid that he’s hung up.

“You’re not going to tell me anything unless I come out there, are you?” Kurapika finally mutters. “Are you _blackmailing_ me?”

“No,” Leorio replies cheerfully. He looks around the hallway, watching an acne-faced intern struggling to hang a large cardboard display of the nervous system on the opposite wall. “I just...” he trails off, because Kurapika isn’t exactly wrong.

“Fine,” Kurapika says, sounding defeated. “Fine, I suppose I can...” and Leorio clenches his fists in victory as he hears the faraway sound of clicking keyboard keys. Kurapika must be looking up flights. “Where are you staying? There’s a morning flight tomorrow. I’ll arrive at...11:47 am.”

“Great!” Leorio says, a balloon of excitement rising in his throat. “I rented a car this trip so I can pick you up. I’ll be there. It’s cold right now, so bring something warm.”

“Yes. February is cold in many places in the world. Goodbye, Leorio,” Kurapika says stiffly, and hangs up.

Leorio feels a curious weight lifting from his chest as he elbows his way into the conference room. The lecture is already underway, a team of gray-haired biologists explaining a complicated diagram on the projector screen, and the room is filled with his fellow medical students hunched over desks and taking notes. He slides into a seat in the back of the room and takes out his notebook, but his mind is whirling too much to take in the material.

Leorio hasn’t seen Kurapika since September, and the months of separation have frayed his nerves to their breaking point. Where is Kurapika? What’s he doing? Is he safe? Eating? Sleeping? He’s heard from Kurapika exactly three times since they parted ways, and the calls were all placed from an unidentified number (one at the end of September, one in November, and one on New Year’s Eve). Each conversation was frustratingly vague, with Kurapika unwilling to divulge anything more than a brief hello in the face of Leorio’s rapid-fire questioning.

But this time tomorrow, Kurapika will be here, in this hotel, right in front of him. Even the hangover can’t spoil Leorio’s mood. As for the rest of the plan, well...he’ll figure that out once Kurapika arrives.

The day passes excruciatingly slowly. Leorio drinks so much coffee over the course of three lectures that his eyelids start to twitch, and he decides to skip the optional cocktail mixer at 5 in favor for a long shower and a nap. The thought of more alcohol makes his stomach churn.

Once he’s back in his room he spends a puzzling ten minutes trying to figure out how the pull-out couch functions, and after he gets it open he digs around in the closets for an extra set of sheets and blankets. His phone buzzes on the nightstand, and he snatches it up eagerly, but it’s only another text from Gon: a blurry picture of a foxbear cub in the woods. Smiling, he taps out a reply.

_Very cool, buddy! Hey, guess who’s coming to visit tomorrow?_

Leorio showers and shaves and looks at himself in the fogged-up mirror for a while. Outside, the weak February sun is setting, casting a pale orange glow over the room’s dingy carpet. It snowed over the weekend, and frozen remnants of the snowfall cling to the sidewalk under the shadows of bushes and trees. Wispy clouds drift across the darkening horizon. After pulling on a pair of threadbare pajamas, Leorio steps onto his cramped balcony to watch ant-sized groups of people scuttle across the sidewalk far below. The night air is bitingly cold and clear, and his breath comes out in puffs of vapor. He waits until the first stars appear in the indigo sky to step back inside.

* * *

He’s running upstairs, a knife in his side, taking the stairs three at a time, panic throbbing in his chest and throat. Throwing open the door to the filthy bedroom, he hurries to the bed in the corner, noticing the strange musty smell of illness permeating the air. He kneels down to touch Kurapika’s face. He’s burning up, Leorio thinks grimly, turning to fetch a cold washcloth, but as he moves Kurapika’s breathing turns labored and rattly, and when he looks back Kurapika’s pallid face is turning a mottled purple, his delicate hands contorting into claws as he reaches for Leorio. “No, no, wait,” Leorio cries out, “no, don’t,” he whimpers, watching helplessly as Kurapika emits one last agonized wheeze before falling still—

Leorio jolts awake, breathing like he’s been sprinting. Clammy sweat clings to his bare chest and forehead. He grabs his alarm clock and swears. It’s 4 in the morning and pitch black outside.

 _He’s okay,_ Leorio tells himself. _Just a stupid dream. Everything’s fine._

Too jangled to sleep, Leorio gets out of bed and looks out the window. A fine sleet is falling over the city, coating the naked tree branches with a slick layer of ice, and he worries about Kurapika’s flight.

He can’t shake the queasy aftertaste of the nightmare. Impulsively, he picks up his phone and calls Kurapika.

“Yes?” Kurapika says, sounding exhausted.

“Oh!” Leorio says, caught by surprise. “I didn’t think you’d pick up. Um.”

“I’m on my way to the airport,” Kurapika replies, and Leorio pictures his small figure tucked into the backseat of a cab, sleepy-eyed and cross. “What is it?”

“It’s sleeting here,” Leorio offers after a confused pause. “I just...wanted to make sure you knew. In case your flight is delayed, that is.”

“Ah. Seeing as I’m not the pilot, I doubt there’s much I can do about that,” Kurapika says tiredly. “I’ll inform you if my flight schedule changes. I’ll see you soon. Goodbye.”

Kurapika hangs up before Leorio gets another word in edgewise. He’s left staring at his glowing phone screen in bemusement, sitting on the edge of his bed in the dark.

* * *

 The morning dawns gray and blustery, and the steady sleet turns to snow around 9. Leorio paces back and forth in his room and checks the highway cams nervously, but the roads look fine so far. By 10:15, he can’t sit still. He dresses in his blue suit and a wool overcoat and winds a thick scarf around his face, and when he steps out into the street the cold takes his breath away. This city is close to the ocean, so the humidity in the air has turned the snow into a particularly wet and clumpy variety. Leorio’s hair freezes into spikes immediately, and he wipes the flakes out of his eyes and mouth as he walks into the wind towards his rental car parked down the street. The snow is starting to stick to the roads, he notes with apprehension.

Leorio drives the fifteen miles to the airport carefully, his windshield wipers working laboriously to clear away the damp snow. When he arrives, he pulls into the waiting lot and turns on the radio to pass the time. He still has about an hour before Kurapika lands. Valentine’s Day is next week, so the radio is filled with ads for expensive restaurants and jewelry sales and florists. _Can’t take my eeeeyyyyyeeess offfff of youuuu,_ someone croons as he browses the stations.

“Hmph,” Leorio grunts, and flips off the radio to sit in silence. He’s almost dozing off when his phone finally buzzes, a message from Kurapika.

_Hello. I’m at gate 12._

Leorio jerks awake and starts the engine again, circling back around to the arrival gates. His heartbeat seems to have migrated to somewhere just below his tonsils, and he’s starting to sweat through his shirt. He drives slowly and uses his En to scan the crowd of people streaming out of the exit, until he feels a tug in his aura and spots a yellow-haired head waiting beside a lamppost.

“Ah!”

Leorio jerks the steering wheel suddenly towards the curb and puts the car in park. He unfolds his long legs and bounds out of the car towards Kurapika, who pockets his phone and nods in greeting. He’s wearing a brown trench coat over his usual dark suit and he’s shivering, shifting from foot to foot.

“Yo!” Leorio calls, striding towards the smaller man and enfolding him in his arms. Kurapika’s narrow shoulders feel brittle through his coat, and he reaches up awkwardly to pat Leorio on his rib cage. Feeling his cheeks flush, Leorio steps back and fumbles for Kurapika’s suitcase handle.

“Here! You must be freezing. Hop in, I’ll put this in the back.”

“I’m perfectly capable, thank you,” Kurapika says irritably, but Leorio steps out of reach and tosses the suitcase in the backseat. Cold gusts of snow whistle through the cement overpass, and Leorio ducks around Kurapika to open the passenger door for him.

“Come on. The security guys are gonna yell at me if we don’t get going,” Leorio yells over the wind as he rounds the car and gets back behind the wheel, and Kurapika finally climbs into his seat and closes the door.

After the noise of the wind and the traffic and the airplanes taking off, the abrupt quiet is startling. Leorio heads back onto the freeway and starts talking a mile a minute to fill the silence. The roads are turning icy, and he grips the steering wheel tightly as he drives. Kurapika folds his hands neatly in his lap and gazes out the window, watching the snowy landscape rush past.

“How was the flight? You must be hungry. Should we stop and get something before we head back into town? There’s not much to eat at the hotel unless you want crackers and bad coffee, heh, I’ve basically lived on that the last few days...but hey, where were you anyways? You never told me. Any leads? Have you run into the Troupe again? Have you talked to Gon and Killua much?”

He’s babbling, and Kurapika waits patiently for him to finish.

“I was back in York Shin,” he offers, fidgeting with the sleeves of the jacket. “But the lead went nowhere.”

“Right,” Leorio says, nodding, “well, I’m glad you made it. Really,” he adds, “I know it’s hard for you to change your plans and stuff...”

“Mm,” Kurapika agrees, and falls silent again. Leorio exits the highway and reaches a red light, and while they’re stopped he steals a glance at Kurapika while he’s not looking.

The doctor in him is aghast at how utterly fatigued Kurapika looks. His eyes are ringed with bruised-looking shadows, and from the angular lines of his face Leorio can tell that he’s grown considerably thinner. Tension is evident throughout Kurapika’s entire body; his mouth is pressed into a firm line, his shoulders are angled inwards, and he holds his arms protectively against his chest. Even now, Leorio can see the shadow of Nen chains against Kurapika’s small hand.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Leorio asks as he waits for the light to change.

“What?” Kurapika murmurs, his eyes flickering away from the window.

“You look so tired.”

“Light,” Kurapika says, motioning ahead.

“Shit.” Several cars behind Leorio honk, and he accelerates quickly through the green light. “And are you sure you’re not hungry?”

“Are _you_ hungry, Leorio?” Kurapika asks, smiling faintly for the first time. Leorio’s stomach gives a great rumble, and he laughs.

“I forgot to eat breakfast.”

“That’s very unlike you.”

“I guess we should head back into town before this snow really starts to stick, though,” Leorio says, peering up at the swirling clouds. “It sure is coming down. People don’t know how to drive in it here, either, you know, it doesn’t usually snow this much but apparently there’s been some kind of high pressure system...”

Damn it, he’s talking about the weather. He shuts himself up before it gets any worse and decides that Kurapika probably wants some peace and quiet.

They reach the hotel after another ten minutes of driving. Once he’s parked the car, Leorio turns to look at Kurapika. He reaches out to ruffle his hair in a friendly way, but the action gets lost in translation somewhere between his brain and his hand, and he ends up patting him on the head like a child instead. Kurapika freezes under Leorio’s touch and looks at him like he’s grown an extra arm.

“Anyways,” Leorio says desperately, “we should. Um. Let’s get inside. It’s snowing,” he points out helpfully.

He jumps out of the car before he can embarrass himself further, and as he grabs Kurapika’s luggage Leorio hears a chuckle coming from the passenger side. He berates himself inwardly and starts to trudge up the slushy sidewalk towards the hotel. His coat isn’t waterproof, and he can feel icy water seeping through his clothing and chilling his skin. He shudders and picks up his pace.

Was it always this strained between them? Leorio can’t be sure, as his memories of September are colored by the intense stress of the situation. He also knows that it’s normal for friends to take some time to fall back into their habits of easy familiarity after a separation. Still, he can’t help but feel wildly self-conscious around Kurapika, aware of his every gesture and expression. Kurapika’s graceful, compact movements make Leorio feel overly large and clumsy as they make their way into the lobby and ride the elevator up to his room. Neither does he miss the way that Kurapika’s eyes dart around anxiously, parsing the place for potential threats and escape routes. Leorio’s throat tightens.

“Here we go,” he says as he inserts the key card into his door and leads Kurapika inside. Kurapika heads for the pull-out couch and sinks down, shaking the snow from his trench coat and removing his shoes.

“No, no,” Leorio protests, “you can have the bed.”

“Are you sure? You look too tall for this,” Kurapika says, loosening his tie. Leorio scrutinizes the pull-out bed and realizes that he’s probably right, but shakes his head firmly anyways.

“All yours. Say, do you mind if I take a shower? I’m soaked to the bone. Do you want one first?”

Kurapika is moving his coat and luggage onto the bed, and he shrugs as Leorio starts peeling off layers of wet clothing and tossing them on the ground.

“Go ahead. I’ve got some work to catch up on.”

Kurapika takes a laptop out of his luggage and plugs it into the wall as Leorio heads into the bathroom. Once he’s closed the door, he strips out of his shirt and pants and turns the shower knob as hot as it goes. Stepping under the water, he runs a hand through his hair with a sigh of relief. He does actually want a shower, but he also needs some time to think through what to say when Kurapika inevitably asks what the plan of action is. A flash of guilt pulses through him, and he pushes it away as quickly as it comes. Kurapika’s safe now, isn’t he?

He turns off the water and wraps a towel around his waist before stepping back into the room in a cloud of steam.

“Wanna go get something to eat?” Leorio asks, but Kurapika is fast asleep, slouched against the pillows with his computer on his lap.

Leorio pads towards Kurapika and hopes that he won’t wake him up and startle him. He cautiously lifts the computer off of his legs and sets it aside. This hotel is old, and it doesn’t have good central heating, so he drags the comforter off of the pull-out couch and lays it across Kurapika’s sleeping form.

The snow falls steadily through the afternoon, piling up on the tiny balcony and lining the streets below. Leorio takes out his lecture notes from the past few days and sits at the desk to study, furrowing his brow as he underlines pertinent facts and chews on the end of his pen. Alerts flash across his phone, warning him to avoid driving and to stock up on provisions. The conference officials send out an official statement, telling the attendees that today and tomorrow’s events have been canceled due to the storm. Kurapika stirs in his sleep and Leorio glances up, his pen hovering over the page, but Kurapika only sighs and burrows deeper into the blankets.

When Kurapika wakes up and starts asking questions, Leorio knows that he will be in trouble. Kurapika is sharp as a tack; he’ll see the holes in Leorio’s story immediately. But in this moment, everything is peaceful.

 _Sleep as long as you want. Sleep for a week if you need to,_ Leorio thinks, watching the rise and fall of Kurapika’s chest. _You’re safe here._


	2. walking down a strange new street

From somewhere deep within a dream, Kurapika hears the ocean. Quiet waves brush past his ears, and he’s drifting in the tide, floating along on a current through clear turquoise water. He sees sunlight streaming all the way down to the golden sand below. It’s the nicest dream he’s had in ages; usually his mind presents him with endless images of dead-end alleyways and bloodied eye sockets. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to hold onto the feeling of peaceful weightlessness, but his body starts to wake because there’s a hand on his neck.

Kurapika jerks awake with a strangled yelp and flails against his attacker. All at once he’s back in York Shin, chains burning against his hand, and before his eyes are fully open he claws out and his hands collide against someone much larger, someone leaning over him—Chrollo? Uvogin? Hisoka?

“HEY! Hey! It’s me! Whoa! It’s just me,” Leorio pants from the end of the bed, holding a hand against his face.“Geez, Kurapika!”

Kurapika sees an angry scratch reddening onto Leorio’s cheek, and at last he remembers where he is and who he’s with. He wipes a palm across his sweaty face and exhales slowly.

“Shit. I’m...I’m sorry, Leorio. I didn’t mean to injure you. I suppose my reflexes are rather high.”

He pauses to look around the hotel room as his heart rate returns to normal. The quality of the grayish light filtering through the windows looks like late afternoon. Several feet of snow have piled up on the balcony. “But what were you doing, anyway?”

“You fell asleep with your tie on. Didn’t want you to choke to death in your sleep,” Leorio grumbles.

“Ah,” Kurapika replies, clearing his throat, “that was...thoughtful of you,” and Leorio flushes bright pink and looks away.

“What time is it?” Kurapika continues, getting out of bed and stretching. He spots an old cup of tea on the nightstand and drinks it in one gulp, feeling muzzy and dehydrated. Stumbling into the bathroom, he washes his face with icy tap water and gargles some of Leorio’s mouthwash.

“Bout 6,” Leorio says. “You were really out. Look at all this snow, huh? Everything’s cancelled for the next few days.”

Kurapika sinks down onto the bed again, calculating quickly in his head as Leorio brushes past him on his way into the bathroom.

“Really? Isn’t the conference here at the hotel?”

“Yeah, but they put all the fancy lecturers up somewhere nicer and can’t drive em in on account of the roads all being closed.”

Kurapika nods unhappily. If the roads are closed, then the airport is closed, and that means that he’s effectively trapped here. What if another lead comes up? What if someone’s figured out where he is by now, and he’s unable to escape? Maybe one of his coworkers from the Nostrade estate could bring the private airship to pick him up. He grabs his cell phone and types messages to Senritsu and Basho, and once he’s pressed send he walks around the bed to gather up his laptop and shoes and coat.

“What’s the matter?” Leorio asks from the bathroom. He’s dabbing peroxide onto his cheek and wincing. “Ow! That burns.”

“I’ll have one of my coworkers charter the private airship for me,” Kurapika says. He slides his sock feet into his shoes. “It won’t further my objective to stay here if everything’s closed and I can’t even get near Xavier.”

“Oh,” Leorio says, meeting his eyes in the bathroom mirror and frowning, “no, you don’t need to do that, the snow will be plowed in a day or two and then we can keep hunting him.”

“A day or two is far too long, Leorio,” Kurapika answers curtly, zipping up his satchel. “I don’t have time to waste.”

Leorio steps out of the bathroom, a bandage taped to his face. “But, Kurapika...” he says uncertainly as Kurapika’s phone rings. It’s Senritsu. Kurapika answers immediately.

“So you _do_ know how to pick up a phone,” Leorio mutters, and Kurapika turns away.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Kurapika,” Senritsu says in her melodious voice. “Why do you need the airship? We’re snowed in here, too, you know.”

“Because,” Kurapika says irritably, “I’m stuck here without a lead and without any work to do.”

Senritsu laughs.

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking a break for this entire month? What was the point of training your substitute if you’re just going to barge back in after three days?”

Kurapika feels Leorio’s eyes on his back as he walks over to the window, gazing down at the frozen street. Parked cars are buried beneath the snow, and the boughs of trees are sagging with layers of ice. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and watches his breath fog up the window.

“You’re with Leorio, aren’t you?” Senritsu asks. “I think you should stay, Kurapika.”

“Can’t you ask Basho or Linssen?” Kurapika says, aware that he’s sounding more and more like a petulant child. “Please, Senritsu?”

“Neon took them on a weeklong shopping expedition at the ski resort.”

 _Oof. Dodged a bullet there._ Neon has dragged him on a few of those before, and they are pure hell.

“You’ll be fine. Get some rest, will you?” Senritsu continues firmly, and Kurapika huffs in exasperation.

“Very well. Goodbye, Senritsu,” he says, and pockets his phone. When he turns back around Leorio is perched on the end of the bed, watching expectantly.

“I guess I’ll be here for a few more days,” Kurapika says slowly. Leorio beams and claps his hands together.

“Ah! Good. Listen, let’s go pick up something to eat. If I eat another stale cracker I’ll die.”

“Isn’t everything closed?”

“No, no,” Leorio says, “there’s a store down the street where I know the owner, and he’s such a miser that he’ll keep the store open through a nuclear war. A lot of people here are like that, actually,” he adds thoughtfully. “Not the sharpest bulbs in the drawer.”

“Tacks, you mean,” Kurapika corrects him wearily. “Honestly, Leorio.”

Leorio ignores him, racing around the hotel room and tripping over suitcases as he pulls on layers of sweaters and scarves. Kurapika rests his head in his hands and fights back a wave of panic. He doesn’t have time to waste, he can’t just sit around doing nothing, he needs to _do_ something...

“You’ll freeze,” Leorio is saying presently, coming up to Kurapika and yanking a sweater over his head. Kurapika splutters in protest, and Leorio slaps him on the back in a hearty manner.

“Tch. I told you it’d be cold. Your coat is too thin,” Leorio scolds him, rolling up the sleeves until Kurapika’s hands reappear. For some reason Kurapika blushes, warmth spreading from his neck to his hairline. _Must be getting another fever,_ he thinks, looking anywhere but Leorio’s face. When Leorio releases him, Kurapika stands and puts on his coat.

“Aren’t we just going a few blocks?”

“Thank me later,” Leorio calls back as he walks out the door. “Come on!”

Kurapika sighs and follows Leorio’s tall figure out into the hallway.

* * *

 Outside, the street is a frozen wonderland. Night is falling, and the snow glows an eerie pale blue under the cloudy sky. Street lamps flicker on here and there as they pick their way between the snowdrifts, occasionally passing people who wave at them with mitten-covered hands. Leorio greets the passerbys in a language that Kurapika doesn’t understand.

This is Kurapika’s first time in this country, he realizes. He’s getting the faint tingle he remembers from when he first start traveling as a young teenager; his eyes hungrily searching out signs written in foreign languages, scanning the storefronts for souvenirs, and observing the different styles of dress. Even the air felt different to him back then, rich with the interesting smells of cooking oil and diesel fumes and strong colognes. He was so curious about the world back then. Before his mind was poisoned by revenge.

_Another new city, Pairo. You’d like it here._

Leorio points out landmarks as they walk, his voice muffled by his thick scarf. He’s not wearing his glasses for once, and tiny crystals of frost catch on his eyelashes. In spite of himself, Kurapika feels his foul mood dissolving. They turn down a smaller alleyway off of the main road and head towards a well-lit storefront at the end of the street.

“Here we go!”

They open the door with a jingle. Leorio immediately starts chattering in his language to the grizzled shopkeeper, who greets them with a guttural cry. As Leorio speaks animatedly, waving his long arms around, Kurapika peers around the aisles. He doesn’t recognize any of the brands here, and the food is intriguingly unfamiliar. There are rows of bizarrely shaped cheeses, intricate displays of jars of pickled things like artichoke hearts and olives and peppers, an assortment of pastries and bread, and a large selection of smoked fish.

Kurapika realizes that he is starving. When was the last time he ate? He can’t remember, and suddenly everything looks delicious. Leorio reappears at his side with a basket in his arms.

“Whaddya want?”

“Everything,” Kurapika says feelingly, grabbing cheeses and breads and tossing them into the basket.

“I feel like I’ve never seen you eat anything besides, like, two lettuce leaves.”

“I do tend to eat healthfully,” Kurapika admits, “but perhaps the weather is affecting my appetite.”

“Red or white?” Leorio asks, studying a rack of bottled wines. “Red, probably, with the snow.”

Kurapika makes a noncommittal sound as Leorio places three bottles into the basket. They return to the counter, and when Kurapika pulls out his wallet Leorio shoves him away.

“No! You’re my guest.”

“You really don’t have to. I’m here for business, after all.”  
  
Leorio’s face twists into an odd grimace as he places their haul onto the counter. He fishes out a handful of Jenni as the shopkeeper rings them up.

“Ah, well, don’t worry. I’ll let you get the next one.”

They take their bags of groceries and leave after Leorio has completed another noisy exchange of gesturing and yelling with the shopkeeper. The sky has darkened to violet since they arrived at the store, and the air is so frigid that Kurapika shudders beneath his sweater and coat.

Slowing his pace to walk next to Kurapika, Leorio slings an arm around his shoulders, and Kurapika is so startled that he stops walking.

“You looked cold,” Leorio says in a strange voice.

“Um,” Kurapika replies, his stomach lurching like he missed a step going downstairs. Leorio clears his throat and lets go abruptly, and they walk in silence for several blocks.

They reach the hotel and stamp their feet to clean off the snow. Guests are huddled around cups of coffee in the lobby, talking in hushed voices as television screens display ominous weather reports.

Once they’re back in the room, Leorio busies himself setting out their groceries and pouring glasses of red wine. Kurapika sits cross-legged on the bed, combing his hair back into place after removing his staticky sweater and coat.

“So let’s go over what you have on Xavier,” he tells Leorio as the tall man rips open packages of food. “Anything you have, really. Where does he live? You’re sure he mentioned a collection? I found his contact information online, but it would help to be able to approach him with more specifics.”

“Ah, right,” Leorio answers vaguely, “but don’t you want to eat first, you must be hungry!”

He sets a large tray of food onto the bed and takes a seat across from Kurapika.

“I’d rather get to work.”

Leorio hands him a glass of wine before drinking deeply from his own glass. Kurapika takes a tentative sip; it tastes bitter and complicated and slightly rotten.

“Come on. Eat something first. Drink something. I’m a doctor, you know,” Leorio implores. “Let’s relax for a bit and then we’ll get down to business. I know you haven’t eaten in days, Kurapika, I can tell.”

“What kind of doctor tells you to get drunk?” Kurapika asks, taking a bite of baguette. “Anyways, aren’t you still a student?”

“Close enough,” Leorio shrugs, slicing off a piece of cheese and eating it with gusto.  
  
The food is delicious, and although Kurapika is reluctant to delay his work any longer, he’s ravenous. They eat in companionable silence for a while. Snow starts to drift past the window again, glittering in the swaths of lamplight.

Kurapika drinks three glasses of wine and grows warm and relaxed. He starts to understand why people like the stuff. Something seems to come pleasantly unhinged in him as he gazes up at Leorio’s bandaged face.

“I apologize for hurting you,” he tells Leorio, who pauses with his mouth open, a forkful of salami on its way. “I could use my healing chain, if you’d like.”

“No, no.” Leorio waves a hand. “No big deal.”

“I mean it, though,” Kurapika presses. “You were trying to help me, and I wounded you. I’m sorry.” He finishes his wine, wiping a hand across his mouth.

Leorio smiles at Kurapika. “Are you tipsy?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He pauses, considering. “You know, my father used to make his own wine. From a type of native berry. I’ve never seen it anywhere else.”

“Oh?”

Kurapika nods. “It was very sweet and very strong. All the elders used to drink quite a lot of it at the winter festivals. In hindsight, it’s possible that the Kurtas didn’t have a very high tolerance for alcohol.”

He looks away, remembering, and Leorio holds very still and watches him. 

“But. Anyways,” Kurapika says after a minute. He shakes his muddled head to clear it. “Leorio, tell me about Xavier.”

“Ah. Right.”

Leorio takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair, making it stand up in spikes. Kurapika narrows his eyes.

_He’s nervous. Why is he nervous?_

“Okay. So. Please don’t hate me.”

Kurapika’s stomach clenches.

“Why?”

“Because...” Leorio says, exhaling through his teeth. “I may have...um...exaggerated...a bit.”

Heat begins to pulse at Kurapika’s temples, and Leorio pours himself another glass of wine.

“What do you mean?” Kurapika says nervously. “What does that mean?” _Not now. Stay calm._

“Well. I. It’s just.”

“Spit it out,” Kurapika demands, the familiar burst of pain flaring behind his eyes before he can stop it. “What is it?”

“Most of what I said is true,” Leorio says hurriedly, gulping down more wine and holding up a placating hand. “I did hear Xavier give a talk, and he is an ophthalmologist—an eye doctor—”

“You think I don’t know what an ophthalmologist is?!” Kurapika hisses.

“Right, sorry—anyways, that’s all true, and he did mention human biodiversity a lot, and the Kurta eyes came up once or twice, but...uh...”

“The collection,” Kurapika interrupts. “There’s no collection, is there?” He laughs bitterly and stands up, walking to the balcony and gripping his hair. “There’s no lead. I knew it. I _knew_ it. You lied to me. “

Leorio has a hand over his face. “Hear me out. I still think there’s something up with Xavier. I just...don’t quite know what it is yet.”

“No,” Kurapika says icily, “no, I think I’ve wasted enough time here.” He pulls out his cell phone and messages Senritsu again. _Transportation required at once. Please reply ASAP._

“I just—you’ve been off doing god knows what, and—the last time I saw you you nearly died, and I want to help you but I can never get a hold of you, and—fuck, Kurapika, you only use me for information anyways so I thought maybe if I could get you here...”

“I don’t need your help,” Kurapika yells. His contacts itch and sting in his flaming eyes, and he rips them out and throws them on the carpet. “I never asked for your help!”

He’s waiting for Leorio to rage at him, to shake him by the shoulders and tell him to calm down, but Leorio merely stays frozen in place on the bed with his hands over his eyes. Kurapika grabs his cell phone and storms out of the room, and as he moves he feels the wine rush to his head.

Once he’s downstairs and outside he pulls out his phone and calls Senritsu, teeth chattering in the wind. She picks up after two rings.

“I saw your message. What’s wrong? I can hear your heartbeat from here.”

“It was a trick,” he blurts out, “it was just a trick to get me here, I need to go home now. Can’t you get someone here to pick me up?”

“Slow down. I can hardly hear you speak over your anger.”

His breath comes in clouds of vapor in the cold air, and he tries to calm himself enough to speak coherently.

“There’s no collection. Leorio lied to me. I need to get out of here.”

Senritsu is quiet for a beat too long.

“Don’t tell me you knew about this already.” Kurapika stamps his feet to keep warm, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “Please, Senritsu, be honest. Is this some kind of set-up? What’s going on?”

“It’s not a set-up,” she replies evenly, “and I didn’t know about it, and I think you should think twice before accusing me of conspiring against you.

 _Ah_. Kurapika takes a breath. “I apologize.”

“Apology accepted.” He hears her breathing into the other line for a minute.

“But, Kurapika...would you have gone if Leorio had told the truth?”

“Of course not. There’s no lead. It’s a waste of my time.”

“That’s not true. Leorio is your friend, and he’s trying to help in the only way he knows how.”

“Why are you taking his side?” Kurapika asks, scowling.

“Because his heart is kind, and he cares about you.”

“How’s _that_ supposed to help?”

“Do you really want to know what I think?”

He clenches his teeth. “No.”

“Put your phone away for a few days and figure it out yourself, then,” Senrisu chides him, and the line goes dead.

As frustrating as the conversation was, hearing Senritsu’s voice has dampened most of Kurapika’s fury. Now he just feels exhausted and cold and foolish, standing out here without his coat in the snow. The dreamy buzz of the alcohol is gone, replaced by a splitting headache and a dull wash of nausea. He thinks that perhaps his eyes have returned to their regular grayish blue, and he checks himself in his cell phone’s front-facing camera to make sure.

He wishes for the millionth time that he could control his temper. Really, what was his plan here? Walk the 700 miles back to the Nostrade mansion in his shirtsleeves through single digit temperatures? Use the spare change in his back pocket to pay for a week’s worth of hotels? Survive on free breath mints and grocery store samples? 

“At least take a coat, you idiot.”

Kurapika looks over his shoulder to see Leorio standing in the hotel door, clutching a wool coat in his arms. His face is inscrutable in the shadows, the light of the street lamps reflecting off of his glasses. 

“Oh,” Kurapika mumbles. “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to freeze my ass off. Come on. If you’re going to run away at least wear something warmer. You’ll die. I may not be finished with med school but I’ve got the basics down.”

Leorio crunches across the snowy sidewalk towards him and drapes the coat over Kurapika’s shoulders. He turns to go, shoving his hands in his pockets, and Kurapika stays rooted in place.

“Leorio,” he calls after the tall man’s retreating figure, and Leorio wheels around.

“Yeah?”

“I’m...not feeling well,” Kurapika admits, wracked with another wave of nausea. “Would it be all right if I—” He breaks off, too embarrassed to continue, and looks at his feet. 

They stand facing each other for a moment. A distant bell chimes twice, disturbing a small cluster of night birds perched on a nearby telephone wire. 

“Of course,” Leorio says quietly, “of _course_ it’s all right, Kurapika.”

Kurapika releases a breath he hasn’t realized he was holding. Mutely, he nods and follows Leorio back inside.


	3. stay with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I’m stuck in a hurricane (totally fine but work is cancelled), and all I’m doing is writing and eating spaghettios. if I die during this hurricane it’s because of a lethal dosage of spaghettios, and I apologize in advance if that happens and I never finish this fic. anyways. thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Leorio is afraid to speak to Kurapika as they walk inside. He can tell that most of the fight has left Kurapika, sees it in the sag of his shoulders and the droop of his eyelids, but he doesn’t want to push his luck.

Once they reach the room Kurapika goes straight into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. Leorio wants to offer help, wants to spring into doctor mode, but he knows that it will only take one wrong move to send Kurapika into a scarlet-eyed fury again.

Leorio stands and walks over to his suitcase, rummaging through the front pocket until his hands close around a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. Doctor or not, a smoke sounds too good right now. He steps out onto the snow-covered balcony and lights a cigarette.

He gazes down at the city below. Golden lights flicker on and off across the rooftops, glittering against the snow like fireflies.

If it were anyone else behaving like this, anyone at all, Leorio would have no trouble telling them to go fuck themselves. The missed calls. The impetuous rage. The utter selfishness that reared its head sometimes, the blatant disregard for anyone and anything besides the single-minded quest for revenge.

And yet—

Leorio takes a long drag and closes his eyes. Finishing his cigarette, he stubs it out with a hiss against the metal railing and flicks it into the night air. Cautiously, he slides open the glass door and steps back inside.

An awful retching sound is coming from the bathroom. Leorio walks quickly to the door and knocks three times.

“Yo, Kurapika!”

There’s no reply, so he tries again.

“You all right?”

Leorio hesitates for another second before pushing open the unlocked door. Kurapika is on the floor, slumped against the bathtub and wiping his mouth, looking pallid and miserable.

“Oh, Pika,” he murmurs, kneeling down.

“It’s really nothing,” Kurapika says weakly, fumbling to unbutton the collar of his shirt. “It’s—it’s rather embarrassing, but I may have drank too quickly, that’s all. You don’t need to—”

He stops mid-sentence to vomit again, and Leorio is thankful that months of medical internships have rendered him immune to anything gross. He holds Kurapika’s silky hair out of his face until he’s finished.

“Please, Leorio,” Kurapika rasps, “I’m fine.” He starts to push himself off the ground, and Leorio places a hand on his chest.

“Like hell you are. Listen...” he says, moving his hand to Kurapika’s shoulder, “I know you’re angry with me. But you’re also drunk and sick right now, and I know what I’m doing. So just shut up and let me help you for ten minutes.”

Before Kurapika can protest Leorio slides one arm behind Kurapika’s bony shoulders and the other under his knees, and he lifts him off of the tiled floor in one fluid motion.

“This isn’t necessary,” Kurapika mutters sternly, but his eyelids are fluttering and his head rolls against Leorio’s collarbone.

Leorio carries him into the bedroom, pauses to turn off the lights with an elbow, and sets Kurapika carefully onto the mattress. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.

“Can I take off your tie, or will you try to kill me again?”

“No, that’s...that’s fine,” Kurapika replies faintly, and Leorio gently loosens the knot of Kurapika’s expensive silk tie and drops it onto the nightstand. He unbuttons Kurapika’s starched collar and leans down to tug off his shoes, placing them on the floor next to his luggage. 

When he’s finished he stands to go, but Kurapika reaches out and grabs Leorio’s wrist. His fingers are cool against Leorio’s skin.

“Wait,” he says, and Leorio does.

“I don’t mind if...” Kurapika begins, his eyes searching Leorio’s face in the darkness, “that is, only if you wanted to, but...”

“What is it?” Leorio asks curiously.

 _He’s drunk_ , he reminds himself. _None of this counts._

“You should sleep on a real bed. I imagine that the couch is uncomfortable.”

“Nah, you take it. I’m not picking you up again,” Leorio says gruffly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh,” Kurapika says, releasing Leorio’s wrist and turning away from him, “well, if you’re sure. Good night, Leorio.”

It’s not until Leorio has brushed his teeth and changed into pajamas and gotten under the covers on the pullout couch that he realizes what Kurapika meant. A thrill of adrenaline courses though his veins, and he stares at the ceiling, eyes wide with disbelief.

* * *

 Leorio wakes in the indigo pre-dawn to the sound of snow plows dredging the streets. His heart sinks. Now there’s nothing keeping Kurapika from leaving. He peers across the room to see Kurapika’s sleeping form underneath the covers, and watches the slow rise and fall of Kurapika’s chest until his own eyelids grow heavy and he drifts back to sleep.

* * *

 When Leorio wakes up again there’s lemony sunlight suffusing the room and the scent of fresh coffee in the air. Kurapika is perched in the windowsill with a mug and his laptop on his knees, wearing earbuds and concentrating intently on something. He’s wearing a blue turtleneck over his old white pants, and his damp hair keeps falling across his face as he studies the screen. He hasn’t noticed that Leorio is awake yet, and Leorio watches as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind a soft-looking earlobe. 

 _I could get used to this,_ Leorio thinks, and feels unaccountably sad. 

Eventually Kurapika looks up and catches Leorio’s eye, and Leorio looks away hurriedly, pretending to yawn and stretch.

“Morning,” he calls, throwing off the covers and pouring himself a pot of coffee. He takes a sip and almost spits it out, gagging. “God damn, Kurapika, that’s rocket fuel.”

“Hmm?” Kurapika asks, pulling out an earbud. “Ah, perhaps I prepared it wrong.”

“How do you not taste this?” Leorio demands, inspecting the coffee maker. “Kurapika, you forgot to use a filter. This is just bean sludge.”

“It tastes fine to me,” Kurapika says amicably, taking another sip and returning his attention to the screen.

“How are you feeling?” Leorio asks as he dumps out the coffee and starts a new pot. “Got a headache?” 

“I’m well, thank you,” Kurapika replies with a tone of finality, and Leorio lets it drop.

Leorio begins his morning routine as Kurapika continues to do whatever he’s doing. He hasn’t shown any signs of packing up and leaving, but Leorio tries not to get his hopes up. He’s halfway through shaving his face when Kurapika lets out a sudden gasp. Leorio’s hand slips and he nicks himself, swearing. 

“Leorio!”

“What?” Leorio calls, rinsing off the shaving cream before running into the bedroom. Kurapika turns the laptop towards him, and Leorio frowns. Onscreen is a video of Dr. Xavier’s lecture from earlier in the week.

Kurapika hits pause and leans forward.

“Do you know this woman?” Kurapika says, pointing at a dark-haired intern in the back row. Leorio squints.

“Uh...I don’t think so, no.”

“Look at this,” Kurapika says, typing rapidly. The screen zooms in on the woman’s chest, and Leorio chortles. 

“Really, Kurapika?”

Kurapika shoots him a lethal glare. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Look.”

He magnifies the shot even further until the entirety of the screen is taken up by an inch of the woman’s collarbone, her skin partially covered by her white lab coat. Kurapika presses play, and the video moves in slow motion. The woman shifts slightly, and her lab coat falls a fraction of an inch to the side to reveal a minuscule tattoo on her left shoulder. She immediately adjusts the coat to conceal it, but Kurapika rewinds the footage and pauses on the frame where it’s visible.

“See?” Kurapika says triumphantly. Leorio shakes his head, perplexed.

“Uh...she has a tattoo?”

“Put your glasses on,” Kurapika instructs, and Leorio plucks them out of his pocket and peers through them. The image onscreen reveals itself to be a tiny skull and crossbones. 

“So she’s...a pirate?” Leorio asks, scratching his head. “Sorry, I don’t get it.”

Kurapika shuts his laptop with a snap.

“This woman is a member of the Immortals,” he says, over-enunciating his words like he’s explaining simple addition to a particularly slow child. “A secret society whose members are obsessed with using alchemy to attain eternal life. I’ve occasionally run across them during my mob dealings. They’re responsible for several of the most high-profile museum robberies in the past two decades, but so many of their members are celebrities and politicians that it’s nearly impossible to hold them accountable for their crimes.”

Leorio knocks back the rest of his coffee. “You know all of this from one tattoo? Come on. Who’s to say she didn’t go through a punk phase in college?”

“No,” Kurapika replies impatiently, opening the laptop again and pointing at the skull. “See that? In one eye? The symbol for infinity.”

“Oh yeah,” Leorio says, noticing the curved line hiding inside the eye socket.

“One would never get this type of marking just for a lark,” Kurapika continues self-importantly. “This is a well-known fact.”

“Maybe in your line of work,” Leorio mutters. “But what does this have to do with anything?”

“They’re collectors.”

Leorio’s mouth falls open.

“You mean...?”

Kurapika nods, looking grim.

“It’s worth a shot,” he replies. “Why on earth would a member of the Immortals be working with this Dr. Xavier?”

He shakes his head, bewildered.

“Leorio, I...I’m not sure how, but you may have led me straight into the viper’s nest.”

“Don’t say that,” Leorio says hurriedly. “I just...I told you I thought there might be a connection, and I was right.”

“Accidentally,” Kurapika corrects him, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. “You were accidentally right.”

“Well, it sounds worse when you put it like that,” Leorio says in mock indignation. “What do we do first?”

Kurapika’s already hurrying over to his suitcase, pulling out a silver wig and a pair of dark glasses.

“We determine if she’s still at the hotel. Do you have a master list of the conference attendees?”

“I think they sent something out,” Leorio says, pulling out his phone and searching through his emails. “Yeah, here we go.”

He taps on a PDF file and opens a list of names.

“You search the first half and I’ll do the second,” Kurapika instructs. Leorio sits down at his desk, opens his own laptop, and begins to type in names. “We could probably skip the names that are clearly male, but you never know.”

Leorio searches across all of the most popular social media pages and scans dozens of headshots, keeping his eyes alerted for any dark-haired women. There are several close matches, but it takes twenty minutes of working in silence until he finds her.

“Hey! Look at this one.”

Kurapika hops down from the windowsill and crosses the room. Leorio can smell his minty shampoo as he leans over his shoulder, frowning at the screen.

“Linda Miyaki. That’s her, for sure. Says she goes to the same med school as you, too,” Kurapika says, scrolling down her profile. A lock of blonde hair brushes against Leorio’s face, sending a tingle down his spine. 

“You think that’s her? You sure?” Leorio asks, not totally convinced, but Kurapika walks to to the nightstand and picks up the room telephone.

“Yes, hello,” he says in his professional voice, “I’d like to have a package delivered to Miss Miyaki and wondered if you could tell me her room number?”

He listens for a second, coiling the cord around a hand. 

“I see. Thank you,” he says curtly, and hangs up. “She already checked out,” he informs Leorio.

“Damn.”

“It figures. The roads are much better today, so I surmise that a majority of the conference attendees are leaving.”

“Right. About that,” Leorio says uncomfortably, “I, uh, kinda need to check out today too. I only paid up until today, and I don’t really have the dough to book another night. Tuition and all that. But...my apartment is about two hours from here.” 

“All right, then,” Kurapika replies calmly, and Leorio blinks in surprise.

“Really? You’ll come?”

“It would appear to be my best option at this point,” Kurapika says with a shrug. 

How did Kurapika manage to make everything so vaguely insulting? Nevertheless, Leorio nods in a businesslike way and sets about packing, his chest swelling with excitement. 


	4. photograph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it adds to your reading enjoyment, you can try picturing Leorio’s hometown in this chapter as a vaguely Mediterranean blend of small towns in Greece and Turkey. also, Flaviana’s speech patterns are 100% based off of the way I sound when I speak French (like a total idiot). lastly I KNOW we’re all here for leopika fluff buuuuut these characters are so damn interesting to me that it’s hard to just write sweet nothings. we’ll get there, I promise. thanks for the kudos and reviews, they make my day!

Leorio’s hometown is two hours outside of the city. Although Kurapika tries to take in the surroundings on their drive, he grows drowsy as the car winds up the steep mountain roads. The snow is beginning to melt, revealing patches of scrubby dead grass here and there, and urban sprawl gradually gives way to smaller pockets of towns dotting the foothills. Leorio points out landmarks as he drives, but Kurapika keeps nodding off, and eventually Leorio gives up and tunes the radio to a quiet talk show in his language.

“Hey. We’re here.”

Leorio is shaking Kurapika’s shoulder, and Kurapika opens his heavy eyelids and looks around. They’re parked on a tree-lined alleyway in front of a crumbling brick apartment building. Laundry hangs from the iron balconies like colorful streamers, and Kurapika hears the faint strains of a radio drifting out of a window far above.

“You live here?” Kurapika asks, gazing down the street. They’re up on a hill, the tiled roofs of the town stretching out below them, and in the distance he sees the quicksilver gleam of the ocean.

“It used to belong to an aunt of mine. I moved in after the Hunter exam ended. It’s not great, but it’s fine for sleeping and studying,” Leorio says, lifting their suitcases out of the trunk and locking the car. “I’m up on the fourth floor.”

They walk inside the dark entryway and climb the four flights of narrow wooden stairs, panting slightly. Leorio fumbles for his keys and shoots Kurapika a nervous grin.

“I haven’t been back in a while, so it might be a mess,” he apologizes, opening the door.

The apartment is tiny but bright; sunlight pours in from a south-facing window that overlooks the street. There’s a lumpy couch against one wall, a desk in front of the window cluttered with framed photographs and thick notebooks, a bookshelf straining under the weight of countless textbooks, and three dying houseplants. One wall of the room contains a kind of miniature kitchen with a refrigerator, a cracked porcelain sink, and a pantry. The yellow paint on the walls is chipping, and a rusted radiator huddles in the corner. Empty beer bottles and cartons of cigarettes are scattered around the room, and Kurapika hangs back as Leorio, blushing furiously, races around with a trash bag.

“Lots of late nights, you know,” Leorio splutters, and Kurapika spots a condom wrapper underneath the couch before Leorio scrambles to throw it away.

“You can take the bedroom,” Leorio continues, pointing towards a door by the bookshelf. “I’ll put on some new sheets.”

“That won’t be necessary. I won’t be staying long,” Kurapika replies, peering into the bedroom. The walls are plastered with peeling floral wallpaper, and a coat rack by the closet is draped with white medical uniforms. The corner of Kurapika’s mouth quirks up.

Leorio is hovering at his elbow, and Kurapika turns to look up at him.

“Your apartment is very nice,” he says, and Leorio looks away and rubs the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Oh—well, it’s not much, you know, just a place to leave my crap—”

“I like it,” Kurapika interrupts, and Leorio flashes him a dazed sort of smile. They stand in the doorway for a moment. Kurapika has felt oddly unbalanced all morning; he wonders if he’s hungover. He takes a deep breath and smells Leorio’s familiar cologne.

“Don’t you have school?” Kurapika asks, edging past Leorio’s tall form back into the main room. He unzips his suitcase and pulls out his laptop, placing it on the desk between piles of schoolwork.

“Yeah, actually,” Leorio replies, grimacing, “tomorrow, and I’ll have to study today or I’ll be a wreck.”

“I’ll accompany you to your classes tomorrow, then.”

Leorio blinks. “You wanna come to school with me?”

“I’d like to meet with this Linda woman as soon as possible, and she appears to attend your university.”

“Well,” Leorio says, running a hand through his hair, “it might be kinda tough...but we can think of something, I guess. You got your Hunter license on you?”

“Naturally,” Kurapika nods, “and ideally, I’d like to gain access to the ophthalmology department, but I’ll defer to your judgement on how to proceed so as to avoid attracting unwanted attention.”

Leorio snaps his fingers. “I just remembered. There’s a mixer tonight for the internal medicine department. Lots of my classmates are going. I bet she’ll be there.”

“A mixer?”

“Oh, you know how it is. They pretend to have these events for us to ‘network’ or whatever”, Leorio says, making air quotes with his long fingers, “but it’s more about everyone getting drunk enough to blow off steam and not kill themselves between exams.”

“I see,” Kurapika replies politely.

Leorio casts a morose eye over his pile of textbooks. “But if we’re gonna go to that I really better start studying now.”

“I understand,” Kurapika says, and stands up. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Where’re you going?” Leorio asks, looking alarmed.

“Just around the block,” Kurapika says, and Leorio’s face softens. He takes a seat at his desk and uncaps a pen, his eyes alighting on a complicated diagram of the nervous system.

“Take a coat, then.”

Kurapika nods and turns to go.

Outside, the sky has cleared to a robin’s egg blue, and the salty air rolling in from the ocean is cool and fresh against his tired face. He walks slowly down the cobblestone street, shoes clacking against the stones, and pauses occasionally to peek into a store window. There’s a florist on the corner, brightly colored petals and vines spilling jubilantly onto the sidewalk, and the aroma coming from a bakery across the street makes his stomach growl. According to a map painted onto the side of a building, there’s large town square a few blocks to the north, so Kurapika heads towards that, using the spire of a cathedral as a guide. It feels good to stretch his legs.

 _One more day and then I’ll leave_ , he promises himself as he walks. _Just to see if it’s worth pursuing._

He checks his phone for messages, and there’s one from Senritsu:

_How are you doing? Figured anything out?_

He taps out a reply, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

_Possible connection to member of Immortals (known collectors). Student at L’s school, so I will investigate tomorrow. If no leads, will be returning by Friday._

Kurapika turns a corner and reaches the town square. The cathedral in the center is impressive; the outer walls are bedecked with rococo sculptures of snarling gargoyles, and morning light reflects dazzlingly off of the jewel-bright stained glass windows. He comes to a halt and stares up at everything for several minutes until his phone buzzes.

_Not what I meant, but that’s good. Take care._

The breeze lifts his hair off of the back of his neck, making him shiver slightly. Frowning, he pockets his phone and continues on his walk.

* * *

 Look, he knows he’s wasting time, but he’s _tired_ , is the problem. Everything in his life right now is wearing him down; keeping tabs on spoiled Neon, dealing with her idiot father, keeping the other bodyguards organized, chasing down lead after lead after dead-end lead. Exhausting, too, is his endless anger, seeping into his every waking thought like acid; the omnipresent images of the dead, the darkened eye sockets, the corpses of his brethren rotting into the earth, their flesh grown soft and putrid before he could bury them properly.

Even worse, in a way, is the knowledge that with every day he forgets more and more. Gone with every sunset is another word of Kurta, another memory of the sound of his father’s voice, the touch of his mother’s hand, Pairo’s smile.

He’s tired, and he needs a day or two to collect himself before he carries on.

* * *

 When Kurapika returns to the apartment, Leorio is immersed in a pile of flashcards. His hair is sticking up like he’s been running his fingers through it over and over, and a pencil is stuck jauntily behind an ear. His face breaks into a smile when he sees Kurapika.

“Whatcha think?”

“Pardon?” Kurapika asks, untying his shoes and setting them neatly beside the doormat. He picked up some groceries on the way home, and he starts putting away the perishables in Leorio’s refrigerator.

“You like my town? Everyone’s poor as shit, but at least we have some nice buildings.”

“The cathedral is quite impressive.”

“You like it? We can go inside later if you want. They do candlelight mass sometimes in the winter. Kinda nice.”

“Ah.”

Kurapika finishes putting the food away and stands uncomfortably in the kitchen. Leorio’s attention has returned to his books, and Kurapika isn’t sure what to do with himself. It’s been a long time since he was a guest in anyone’s home. As an employee he is businesslike and efficient to the nth degree, but off the clock he’s incapable of shaking off his awkward formality, even around his friends. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and bounces on the balls of his feet. It’s only three in the afternoon; he imagines that Leorio’s mixer or party or whatever it is won’t start until after sunset.

After a moment of deliberation, he walks over to Leorio’s bookshelf and peruses the titles, tracing the dusty spines with a fingertip.

“You’re making me nervous,” Leorio grumbles, highlighting a passage in fluorescent yellow. He’s chewing on a pen cap, and Kurapika notices an ink stain next to his mouth. “Relax, will you?”

“I—” Kurapika starts, frowning, “well. I apologize for disturbing you.”

He yanks out a book at random and retreats into Leorio’s bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Leorio’s bed is unmade, and the only other furniture in the room is a small chair in the corner, covered in more textbooks and a set of mint green medical scrubs. There are three more framed photographs on Leorio’s nightstand, and Kurapika walks over to examine them curiously.

In the largest frame, Leorio’s long arms are wrapped around Gon and Killua. Both boys are covered in dirt and laughing riotously, and Kurapika spots himself in the background, hovering behind the other three. He notices with a dull ache that he's still wearing Kurta clothing; his favorite old red jacket.

The second picture on the nightstand shows a much younger Leorio hugging an older woman. There’s a distinct Leorio-ish-ness about the way her dark eyes crinkle into a wide grin; an aunt or a grandmother, perhaps? Kurapika permits himself a tiny smile before turning his attention to the final picture.

The subject is backlit by sun-sparkling ocean, and Kurapika squints, trying to figure out if it’s Leorio or someone else. The dark hair is similar, but as Kurapika studies it longer he realizes that it’s a stranger. Whoever it was, they didn’t know the photo was being taken, and just as the shutter went off they turned around, stretching out a protesting hand and laughing.

Kurapika sits onto Leorio’s bed with a thump, holding the photograph.

The Kurta were an intelligent and inquisitive people, but there were several modern technical innovations that they never acquired. As an adult, Kurapika suspects that the elders made conscious decisions not to introduce certain inventions into the clan, although perhaps his hindsight is overly generous, clouded as it is by nostalgia and fierce protectiveness. Nevertheless, Kurapika at age twelve was profoundly unprepared for the overwhelming magic of electricity. The internet! Cars! Light switches, cell phones, computers and microwaves; everything was thrilling and alien. The first time he crossed a street in a busy city, the electronic crosswalk signs with their blinking lights and verbal cues to WAIT and WALK frightened him so badly that he jumped a foot into traffic and narrowly avoided an irate truck driver speeding by.

Most terrifying of all were cameras. Eventually Kurapika read enough manuals to understand precisely how they worked, but the Kurta held fast to a belief that to paint someone’s likeness was to capture a part of their soul. Artists were revered in the clan, and it was considered a deeply serious gesture to commission a portrait of someone. Painters foraged for rare wild plants to craft their dyes and brushes, and the process could take months to complete. To discover that a mechanical device could replicate this painstaking process with the push of a button was a shock, to say the least.

But Kurapika is smart, and so he learned as he navigated the world that some things were the same; namely, when you wanted to preserve someone’s face in a picture, well, that was usually because you loved them.

“Kurapika?”

He looks up with a start to see Leorio poking his head through the bedroom door. Kurapika hastily replaces the photo onto the nightstand, feeling guilty, but Leorio crosses the room in three long strides and bends down to pick up the same photo.

“I’m sorry,” Kurapika says quickly. “I didn’t mean to go through your things.”

“Nah,” Leorio mutters, “you’re fine. This was Pietro. God, were we ever drunk that day! We stole some limoncello from my grandmother and hitchhiked to the beach. She wouldn’t let us back in the house for a week, she was so pissed.”

He pauses, staring down at the photo for a moment.

“But anyways. Figured you were getting bored in here reading,” Leorio continues, raising his eyebrows and picking up the book Kurapika had selected earlier, “my Advanced Gynecology textbook.” He claps Kurapika on the back and straightens up. 

“I can’t study any longer with you around. Let’s go have a drink before this thing tonight.”

“Again?”

“What do you mean?”

“We had alcohol _last_ night,” Kurapika says, feeling a hint of residual queasiness as Leorio digs around in his closet.

Leorio snorts. “Doctor’s orders.”

He turns to change out of his button-down into a black sweater, and Kurapika feels a funny little hiccup of adrenaline at the sight of Leorio’s bare skin. He looks away pointedly. 

* * *

“They sound a lot like the Spiders, these Immortal people,” Leorio is saying, tapping on the side of his frosted beer glass. “Do they have anything to do with them?”

They’re seated at a weathered wooden booth in a cramped bar, waiting for Leorio’s classmates to arrive. A mustachioed guitarist croons mournfully from a smoky corner, and a mangy black cat keeps nudging against their ankles.

Kurapika waggles his hand in the air, taking a sip from his cappuccino.

“Yes and no. The two factions occasionally overlap at events like the York Shin auction, as well as a number of lower-profile dark web bidding sites. But I’m told that they operate under a strict code, and that they consider themselves morally superior to common thieves. They believe that they are pursuing some kind of eternal truth that will benefit all of humanity once they’ve perfected their longevity potion. It’s all utter tripe, of course, but cults tend to be persuasive even to the most powerful of personalities. Most of them are Nen users, and several of them are even ex-Hunters.”

“But they’re still shooting up museums?” Leorio scoffs. “And bombing medical facilities? Real great for humanity.”

Kurapika nods.

“Yes. They are responsible for hundreds of civilian fatalities, and they acquire human remains for use in their own rituals. I am almost certain that they own a pair of Scarlet Eyes. They are reprehensible scum. Chairman Netero classifies them as a terrorist organization, and there’s a bounty out for the capture of their leader. He goes by the name of Yakushin.”

“Why did I never hear about this?” Leorio sighs, scowling. “What is it with Hunters? I never get told _anything_. It’s like the exam never ended.”

“Perhaps you need to do more of your own research.”

“Perhaps you need to take the stick out of your—” Leorio begins muttering, but they’re interrupted by a loud squeal.

“Paladiknight!” a redheaded woman shrieks from their right, ascending on Leorio and throwing her arms around him. She starts speaking happily in Leorio’s dialect, and Kurapika can smell her vanilla perfume from across the booth. He wrinkles his nose slightly as Leorio says something back to her and untangles himself.

“Ah! Forgive,” she cries. “Don’t know how to speak so well, only small small bit.”

She beams and proffers a manicured hand to Kurapika, who shakes it primly, casting a questioning glance at Leorio as he straightens his glasses and smoothies his tie.

“Flaviana, this is my...colleague, Kurapika, he’s visiting from York Shin. Kurapika, Flaviana is a cardiology intern. We’re lab partners.”

Flaviana smacks Leorio on his arm and lowers her voice to a stage whisper.

“Ohhh! So you’re the one he always calling!”

Leorio’s ears turn bright red, and he laughs weakly.

“That’s—ah—heh. You want a drink? Hold on,” he says before switching languages and speaking rapidly to Flaviana, whose bright smile wavers only slightly. He hurries to the bar, and Flaviana turns back to Kurapika.

“So! What you doing here? Leorio talk very much about his friends! So good to meet!”

“Just visiting,” Kurapika offers, clutching his cappuccino like a life raft. “I’m...interested in attending this university. Leorio will be giving me a tour tomorrow.”

“So you smart, huh?” Flaviana asks, winking. “Leorio have good taste, of course. I’m so sad when he tell me he don’t wanna go with me, but now I meet you, I see why!” She sighs dramatically and makes an _oh well_ gesture with her arms.

Leorio returns with an armful of beer and three new people in tow and slides into the booth next to him. Kurapika accepts a beer wordlessly. The three students (two tall men who look like knockoff Leorios right down to the suit, and a mousy young woman) cluster around the table, and Flaviana greets them all enthusiastically. For the next half hour the conversation remains in the local language, and Kurapika drums his fingers on the table, excluded and irritated.

_What am I doing here? This is foolish. I’ve wasted enough time._

“Hey,” Leorio murmurs as the others chatter, nudging Kurapika’s knee with his own. “There’s Linda.”

Following his gaze towards the bar, Kurapika spots a familiar dark-haired woman seated near the door.

“Really?” Kurapika whispers. “You’re certain it’s her?”

“I asked Flaviana earlier. She knows her from one of her classes.”

Kurapika nods almost imperceptibly, his heart racing.

“And Kurapika...”

Leorio leans closer and cups a hand around his mouth, and his warm breath tickles Kurapika’s ear as he whispers.

“Don’t bother with Nen. Just get her drunk. If she’s anything like the rest of these students, well...it won’t take much to get her talking.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Kurapika replies curtly. “I know what I’m doing.”

Flaviana casts a curious eye across the table, and Leorio flashes her a clenched smile. She glances back, uncertain, before returning her attention to the other students.

“You’re already attracting attention,” Leorio hisses though his teeth. “If you can get what you need without causing a scene, you’ll get a lot farther. And at least pretend to drink your beer, will you? People are staring.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. You have no clue how to handle these people.”

Heat flares at his temples as he gets to his feet abruptly, brushing past Leorio. He strides briskly through the crowd towards Linda, who appears to be engrossed in her cell phone. There’s an open stool next to her, and Kurapika sidles up to the bar and gestures towards the bored-looking bartender.

“Wine?” Kurapika asks, uncertain how to order in the native language, and the bartender looks at him with confusion. Sighing, Kurapika mimes drinking and holds up two fingers, and the bartender shrugs and pours him two glasses of a deep burgundy liquid. Handing over a few coins, Kurapika hops up onto the barstool next to Linda.

Up close, she’s younger than he guessed from the video, and her moon-shaped face is kind and open. She inclines her head politely towards Kurapika as he settles into his seat and passes her one of the drinks. Hesitating, she shoots him an appraising glance, and Kurapika smiles and raises his own glass. Whatever it is, it tastes awful; syrupy and much too strong, and he struggles to keep his face neutral as he swallows.

“Thanks,” she says shyly. “Are you a student? I’ve never seen you around campus.”

To Kurapika’s relief, she’s speaking in the international Hunter language. Her speech is only slightly accented.

“No,” he says, trying another tentative sip of the drink, “just visiting. You’re a student, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m studying ophthalmology. Dr. Xavier is incredible, you know.”

Kurapika’s gaze flickers to her collarbone, but the tattoo is covered by a thick blue coat.

“So I’ve heard.”

Turning his head slightly, Kurapika sees Leorio watching him from across the room. He takes another deep swig from his glass, hoping that Linda will follow his lead, but she sets the glass back onto the bar and pulls out her phone, looking distracted. She reads a text message and checks the time, and Kurapika notices that the background of her phone is a photograph of a young boy clutching a stuffed rabbit.

“Is that a relative of yours?” Kurapika asks, pointing towards the screen, and Linda nods.

“That’s my son, Callisto. He’s six.”

“He looks very sweet.”

“Thank you,” Linda replies, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

_She has a child...?_

Kurapika looks around the bar. It’s crowded enough that nobody can hear them, and everyone’s tightly packed, shoulder to shoulder in their heavy winter coats. He steels himself. 

“I know who you are, Linda.”

He feels her stiffen next to him, and he leans closer, fighting off the painful throb behind his eyes.

“I don’t know how you got mixed up with the Immortals, and I don’t know what you’re doing here pretending to be a student. But your organization took something that belongs to me, and I will do whatever it takes to get it back.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Linda says swiftly, her eyes darting back and forth anxiously. “I told you, I’m a student.”

 _She’s not even trying to lie._ Kurapika’s eyes start to burn, and he presses the palm of his hand against his forehead.

“I’ve seen your tattoo. Don’t pretend. Just tell me how to access Yakushin, and I’ll leave you alone.”

Linda looks at him fearfully. “Who _are_ you?”

As Kurapika opens his mouth to reply, eyes flaring, he feels a hand close firmly on his shoulder.

“Time to go,” Leorio says loudly in his ear. Before Kurapika knows what’s happening Leorio’s got a strong grip around his upper arm, and he pulls him off of the stool and out into the frozen street.


	5. if i were a bell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which Leorio has a Very Bad Day 
> 
> note: there’s some hospital-y stuff in this one, so if that’s a trigger for you you may want to skip this chapter.

Leorio’s heart is hammering as he yanks Kurapika down the block, their shoes scuffling in the slush. A chilly drizzle is falling, and people scurry around them in pods of twos and threes, clutching their coats over their heads and chattering.

“Let me go!” Kurapika snarls, trying to twist away from Leorio’s grip. “How dare you interfere! I had her cornered—”

“Your eyes,” Leorio scolds him, shaking him lightly by the arm. “People were starting to notice.”

Kurapika raises a hand and cautiously probes an eyelid.

“I forgot my contacts,” he says uncertainly. “I left them in the hotel...”

“Flaviana and them didn’t see, but everyone around you at the bar did,” Leorio says, still holding Kurapika’s upper arm, “and there’s all sorts of old wives tales in this area, a lot of these people have never left this town and have only heard stories about your clan. They’re scared of anyone different from them. You need to be _careful_ , Kurapika, you can’t just rush headfirst into everything all the time!”

“You have no right to be lecturing me. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe I don’t,” Leorio shoots back, his temper rising, “but I know you’re being an idiot!”

“You’re overreacting,” Kurapika replies coldly. “I would have had the information I needed by now had you not interrupted.”

Privately Leorio agrees with him, but it’s too late for that. With Kurapika, you had to be careful to never show an iota of weakness, and so he barges ahead.

“Yeah, and half the bar would have come after you. You’re being too reckless.”

“What does it matter to you?” Kurapika says fiercely, and Leorio feels his furious aura vibrating in the frigid night air. “Why do you care?”

“Because...because I’m your friend! And I...” He takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself. “I have these dreams, Kurapika...and I’m so worried...”

“Let go of me.”

Releasing Kurapika’s arm, Leorio turns away and swears under his breath. He runs a hand over his face and closes his eyes in frustration, and by the time he opens them again Kurapika’s already halfway down the street. His small figure blurs in the mist before he disappears back into the bar.

Shivering in the rain, Leorio fishes a cigarette out of his coat. He lights it with trembling fingers, willing himself to calm down, but after the first drag it tastes stale and musty, and he spits it out and grinds it under his heel with a sizzle.

He’s always been too loud, too passionate, too open with people, and it’s gotten him into trouble more times than he can count. He hates that he yells at Kurapika every time he sees him; he knows that it only bolsters Kurapika’s firm belief that friends are nothing but an albatross around his neck.

“Son of a _bitch_.”

Leorio can’t wait any longer. He half-jogs down the street to the bar, and as he reaches for the door it opens into his outstretched hand. Flaviana and the other students spill out, laughing and reeking of whiskey and cigar smoke.

“Oh! There you are,” Flaviana calls to him in their dialect, pink-cheeked and merry, but her brows knit together with worry when she looks him in the face.

“You okay? Where’s your friend?”

“Don’t worry,” Leorio replies, giving her a strained smile. “You guys have a good night.”

She continues to gaze at Leorio in concern as he brushes past her and sidles back into the bar. It’s densely packed, so he scans the room quickly by sending out a few tendrils of En. Linda is nowhere to be found, but he spots Kurapika in the corner, looking so young and lost that Leorio’s anger melts away in an instant. He shoves through the crowd. Kurapika glances up at him warily. He’s clutching a piece of torn notebook paper, and Leorio gestures toward it as he approaches.

“What’s that?”

Kurapika crumples the note into his pocket.

“Linda requested that I meet with her tomorrow at your university.”

“Ah. That’s good.”

For a moment they stand awkwardly without speaking, pressed together by the shifting crowd around them. Leorio wants to break the tension by cracking a joke or lighting a cigarette, but he senses that one wrong move could send Kurapika bolting into the night.

Cautiously, he lays a hand on Kurapika’s tense shoulder.

“Hey.”

Kurapika says nothing. Leorio hears snatches of conversation behind them, townspeople discussing scarlet eyes in distrustful tones, and he angles himself so that he’s shielding Kurapika from view as his eyes slowly revert to their regular grayish blue.

“Does it hurt?” Leorio asks curiously. “When they...do that?”

“I’m fine,” Kurapika snaps, but he winces and touches a fingertip to his temple. His dandelion-fluff hair is falling across his eyes, and he shakes it away impatiently.

Before Leorio can think better of it, he reaches out to brush the hair out of Kurapika’s face, fingers trailing against the too-warm skin of his forehead. Kurapika flinches instinctively at his touch and Leorio pulls away quickly, a little heartbroken.

_When was the last time anyone was gentle with you?_

“Let’s get out of here,” Leorio says, and to his surprise Kurapika nods in agreement.

* * *

 Leorio hails a taxi to get them home, too wound up to gripe about the overpriced fare like he normally would. Kurapika is silent for the entire drive, staring out the window and chewing on his lip. The cigar-smoking driver shoots Kurapika a suspicious look through a cloud of smoke but says nothing.

Once they’re back Kurapika hangs up his coat and tie by the door and brushes the snow off of his shoes. Leorio drifts around the main room, touching his stacks of flashcards and fussing with dishes in the sink. A dozen different thoughts are vying for attention in his head, and he feels tongue-tied and stupid.

“Regarding tomorrow,” Kurapika says suddenly, startling Leorio as he’s prying petrified scrambled eggs off of a spatula. “What time do you need to leave for the university in the morning?”

“Um. If you don’t mind walking, then eight, but there’s a bus that comes at seven.”

“Walking will be fine. Goodnight, Leorio,” Kurapika tells him, heading into the bedroom and closing the door.

Leorio stands by the sink holding the spatula and feels achingly disappointed.

 _Wait_ , he thinks desperately. _Talk to me. Let me do something, anything, let me help._

From inside the bedroom Leorio hears the creak of the wooden floors, and he pictures Kurapika undressing and getting ready for bed. The mattress squeaks as weight settles onto it, and Kurapika starts to speak quietly to somebody on the phone. Leorio can’t make out the words.

Fuck. He still needs to study, and it’s late, almost midnight. Groaning, he pours himself a cup of cold coffee and sits down at the desk to work. He has an exam tomorrow in his neurology class, and he’s working a seven-hour shift at his internship in the hospital’s pediatric surgery unit. He had hoped that the grueling Hunter exam would make medical school seem like a piece of cake, but unfortunately it’s proving to be almost as difficult.

He catches himself re-reading the same paragraph in his textbook over and over, and he puts down the pencil and removes his glasses to massage his forehead.

By two in the morning he’s crammed as much as he possibly can, and he collapses onto the sagging couch, curling under a knitted quilt that doesn’t quite cover his long body. He needs to sleep if he’s going to be functional tomorrow, but his mind refuses to catch up to his tired body. He tosses and turns on the small couch and replays the argument from earlier.

It’s not like this is the first time that Leorio has suffered from Kurapika-induced insomnia; far from it, but usually Kurapika is not ten feet away from him.

Leorio considers his options. He could drink enough whiskey to fall asleep, but then he’ll feel terrible tomorrow. He could take a sleeping pill, but then he’ll run the risk of feeling too groggy during his exam. Jerking off is a time-tested strategy, but the idea of doing it with Kurapika possibly awake in the other room seems horrifyingly embarrassing.

 _Maybe just a half dose of a sleeping pill, then,_ Leorio thinks, sitting up to rummage through his briefcase until his hand closes around a pill container. He snaps a pill in half and swallows it dry, grimacing at the bitter taste, and within ten minutes the medicine hits him like a syrupy fog and he’s asleep.

* * *

Leorio wakes at six in the morning to the sound of the raucous chapel bells chiming in the dawn. It’s still gray and drizzling, beads of condensation collecting on his windowpane and blurring the horizon. He has a painful crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch, and at first he can’t remember why he’s not in his bed, until—

“K’rapka,” he slurs, stumbling to his feet and gazing around blearily. “Hey, Kurapika.”

The door to the bedroom is ajar, and Leorio pads towards it with a growing sense of unease. Timidly, he pokes his head into the room.

The bed is neatly made and empty. Kurapika’s suitcase is gone. He even tidied up Leorio’s messy stack of textbooks in the corner before he left.

“Oh,” Leorio says aloud to nobody. “Oh.”

If he lets himself think about it he won’t be able to make it through the morning. Instead he takes a shower and puts on his suit and reviews his notes one last time before he heads downstairs, briefcase and doctor’s coat tucked under his arm, out into the cool mist of the morning.

* * *

 It’s pointless to call Kurapika, but Leorio does it anyways on his walk to school, four calls that go straight to voicemail. He arrives at school and trudges across the cobblestone courtyard, feverishly reciting the drug interaction side effects that he’s required to know for today’s exam. The sleeping pill was a bad idea after all; he feels slightly drunk. Before he walks into the classroom he buys a can of coffee from a rusty vending machine and gulps it down in one swallow.

 _Senritsu_ , he thinks suddenly, inhaling sharply. He pulls out his cell phone to text her to ask if she’s heard from Kurapika, and less than a minute later she replies:

_Hello Leorio. I haven’t heard from him, and he’s not back at the estate. I’ll let you know if I hear anything._

The tiny bubble of hope swelling inside of Leorio’s chest deflates, and he walks into the classroom.

Linda is nowhere to be seen in the exam room as it’s filling with nervous-looking students. Flaviana spots Leorio as he’s taking his seat and flaps over to slide into the desk beside him.

“So how _was_ it?”

“How was what?” Leorio asks distractedly, taking his sharpened pencils out of his briefcase.

“You know,” Flaviana whispers, waggling her eyebrows, “how was your night? With Kurapika?”

“Oh,” Leorio replies, feeling rather blindsided, “it was, um...”

Thankfully at the moment their neurology professor walks into the room and begins passing out a formidable stack of exam booklets. Flaviana smirks at Leorio, and the class falls silent and begins to work.

Leorio’s brain is useless mush. He squints down at complicated molecular diagrams and sucks at his teeth, searching for answers he knows he won’t remember. All he sees is Kurapika on the bathroom floor, looking up at him with his level gaze and wiping his mouth defiantly, Kurapika lying on the hotel bed reaching for his wrist, telling him _wait_ , Kurapika’s eyes glowing like embers in the dark bar as the frightened townspeople muttered fearfully around him.

The test is a lost cause, so he scrawls down as many answers as he can before getting to his feet and pushing his chair out with a screech, earning him a few scandalized looks from nearby students. He places his booklet on his professor’s desk and walks out without a word, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully.

Leorio’s supposed to scrub in at the hospital in an hour, so to kill time he takes a detour to the ophthalmology wing. It’s all the way on the other side of campus in a large brick building he’s never been to before, and he gets briefly turned around in the dimly lit hallways looking for Dr. Xavier’s office.

He peers through the tiny window on the door and sees the old professor seated at his desk grading papers, so he knocks three times and waits. Dr. Xavier gets to his feet and strides over to the door to let him in.

“How may I help you?” Dr. Xavier asks politely, straightening his thick glasses. He’s an elegant silver-haired man, two heads shorter than Leorio and twice as wide. He peers up at Leorio owlishly, his eyes magnified to cartoonish proportions by his lenses. “It’s Patalino, isn’t it? Come in, my boy.”

 _He must be blind as a bat,_ Leorio thinks with a little inward giggle. He shakes himself mentally and ducks his head under the doorframe as Dr. Xavier beckons him inside.

“Close enough,” Leorio replies, taking a seat on the leather chair as Dr. Xavier resettles himself behind his desk. There’s a 3-D model of the human eye cast in bronze on the corner of the desk, and Dr. Xavier strokes it fondly as he waits for Leorio to speak.

“Dr. Xavier, I was wondering if you could help me with something,” Leorio begins, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “The thing is, I’m doing a group project with one of your students, and I forgot to get her contact information. Her name is Linda Miyaki.”

“Ah,” Dr. Xavier says, brightening visibly, “certainly. Dear Linda. She’s a character, that one.”

“Is she?” Leorio asks offhandedly as Dr. Xavier rummages in his desk drawer. “How’s that?”

“A brilliant student, really, truly unlike anyone who’s come through this program before. But such a sad case. Certainly you know about her husband?”

Leorio’s pulse quickens.

“Her husband...?”

“Oh goodness. So young to die that way,” Dr. Xavier murmurs, rifling through a stack of papers. “Salazari’s disease is a nasty business. Hm, here we are. Her student email.”

He holds up a piece of rumpled paper, and Leorio copies the email address into his cell phone before looking back up.

“Definitely,” Leorio lies, nodding gravely as he stands and collects his briefcase. “A bad one. Anyways, thanks very much, Doctor.”

“But of course,” Dr. Xavier twinkles up at him. “And what did you say the project was?”

Leorio pretends not to hear and hurries out the door.

_Salazari’s disease?_

To his dismay, he’s never even heard of it. He makes a mental note to go to the library after his shift, but in the meantime he’s running late. He bolts across campus and catches the shuttle to the hospital, taking off his blazer and folding it into his briefcase. 

Still no word from Kurapika. Leorio checks the call log just in case and feels a dull pang when he sees the two calls he missed from Kurapika earlier in the week. As the shuttle arrives at the hospital parking garage he takes a screenshot of the missed calls, just to have it to look at it. He’s excruciatingly aware of how pathetic that is.  _You loser_ , he tells himself firmly. _You big fucking loser._

* * *

 Leorio changes into his green scrubs and washes his arms up to his elbows with harsh disinfectant before tying a mask around his face and heading into the surgery ward. He’s been stationed in the pediatric surgery ward for the past five weeks, and it’s brutal. One day, if he has his own practice, he’ll be able to use his Nen to perform surgery and remove tumors and heal incisions, but in the meantime, under the watchful eye of his teachers, he’s limited to the scope of normal human ability, which is fallible and flawed and dangerous. As an intern, Leorio functions mainly as a gopher for the resident surgeons, fetching instruments and assisting with lifts and occasionally stitching up incisions when the doctors need coffee breaks, but for the most part he watches carefully from the sidelines.

Today is a particularly difficult case: a six-year-old girl named Tulani with a severe heart defect. Leorio met her last week and instantly adored her. He took her vitals last Tuesday and explained the upcoming procedure to her worried parents. She’s a sweet little twig of a child, freckle-faced and spunky even when she’s fighting for breath on an oxygen machine.

The nurses wheel Tulani into the room and lift her carefully onto the table. She’s already under anesthesia, but from her labored breathing and her sallow skin Leorio can tell that her heart is beginning to fail. She’s drowning above water; there’s barely any oxygen circulating in her veins.

He barely breathes as he watches the head surgeon makes the first cut. It’s careful and precise but ghastly all the same; an angry gash of crimson across Tulani’s chest, shockingly vivid under the fluorescent lighting. The surgeons begin the painstaking work of patching up the leaky hole in her valve. One wrong move could sever crucial arteries and kill her instantly, and the surgeons stand frozen, only moving their hands. Every now and then someone asks Leorio to sanitize a scalpel or hand over a suction device, but the room is silent save for the thrum of the respirator and the beeping of the heart monitors.

Time has a way of bending and stretching like taffy when Leorio is observing a surgery. Three hours pass in the blink of an eye, and just as he’s starting to wistfully imagine sitting down and eating a sandwich, the surgeons begin to close up Tulani’s chest with minuscule stitches.

“Well done, team,” the head surgeon tells the nurses, and Leorio sighs in relief as Tulani is wheeled away to the recovery bay. Everyone sags in satisfied exhaustion as they strip off their gloves and masks, chatting as they scrub away the blood and disinfectant.

* * *

Leorio’s assigned to float between the room of the surgical ICU for the remaining three hours of his shift. He hangs back in the locker room for a moment to check his phone, but there’s nothing from Kurapika and nothing from Senritsu. To cheer himself up, he texts a picture of himself making a horrible face in his medical coat to Gon and Killua. _Doctor Leorio at your service!_

Because they’re teenagers, they both text back immediately with incomprehensible streams of emojis, and Leorio feels a little better as he heads towards the ICU.

 He inhales coffee and drifts from room to room, checking the children’s bandages and blood pressures and drug dosage charts. Everyone seems to be doing fairly well today, and Leorio allows his mind to wander back to the bombed exam that morning. His grade will undoubtedly suffer, but maybe he’ll do well enough on the final to make up for it, or maybe he can wheedle his way into some extra credit...

“Mister Paladiknight! Please! Please help!”

Leorio jerks back to reality to see a dark-haired woman yelling his name frantically from down the hall. She looks familiar, and it takes him a moment to recognize her as Tulani’s mother.

“What’s the problem, ma’am?” Leorio calls back, hurrying towards her. As he approaches he sees that she’s been crying, and his stomach drops. He pulls out his pager and calls for backup.

“Something’s not right,” Tulani’s mother tells him tearfully as they rush into the room. “I don’t know what happened.”

He knows that something is terribly wrong as soon as he steps inside and takes one look towards the bed. Tulani is hooked up to a ventilator, and everything in the room is blinking and shrieking, but the heart monitor is flatlining and Tulani is turning blue.

“Do something!” Tulani’s mother wails, her hands over her mouth. “She’s dying!”

_Why aren’t there any nurses in here? What am I supposed to do?!_

There’s no time to panic, so Leorio takes a gulp of air and rolls up his sleeves as he approaches the bed.

_Focus all of your energy into your hands. Feel your life force concentrated into the tips of your fingers. Send it slowly into the patient._

He closes his eyes and lays his hands on Tulani’s bandaged chest, ignoring the maddening bleeps of the machinery around him. Aura begins to pour out of his hands, scalding hot and tingling, and he maintains the flow as long as he can. If he were merely healing a wound he would transmit his aura in metered doses, but to restart a heart he needs to push with everything he has.

Tulani gives a shuddering gasp and opens her eyes, the whites rolling around wildly as she thrashes, and Leorio falls against the wall, gasping for air and sweating through his coat. Tulani’s mother rushes forward to embrace her daughter, weeping, and Leorio stumbles out into the hallway as a team of nurses rush into the room with a crash cart.

Technically he’s still on the clock for another twenty minutes, but fuck it, he needs a drink. He texts Flaviana to ask if she’ll punch his time card for him, crossing his fingers that she won’t ask questions. He’s done the same thing for her when she’s been hungover or sick a few times.

He’s not sure he’s ever used so much Nen before, and he feels sick and unsteady on his feet as he walks through the hospital lobby and out into the parking lot. He turns his face to the cool rain and unbuttons his collar with shaking hands. 

* * *

Leorio can’t quite face his empty apartment yet, so he heads to a nearby cafe that serves cheap wine and orders a bottle of Cabernet. He rests his head in his hands and drinks three glasses, but it only makes him feel worse. He’s asked all of the resident doctors on the ICU floor to keep him updated on Tulani’s condition, and nobody has replied to him yet. He’s itching to text Senritsu again, but he knows that she would let him know if anything had changed. The thought of hearing Kurapika’s voicemail again is too sad, so he turns his phone face down on the table, sighing.

He’s wracked with worry as he second-guesses himself. Suppose he transmitted too much aura to Tulani and damaged her heart even further? And how will he explain himself to the residents when they look on the chart and see that he never administered CPR or used a defibrillator? Obviously it doesn’t matter if he saved Tulani’s life, but he could very well lose his internship, and if that happens he will undoubtedly be kicked out of school.

Leorio props his chin against his palm and looks out the window at the rain-soaked street. He imagines Kurapika in some dark abandoned warehouse or skulking down an alleyway, and hopes that he at least brought his coat.

His phone rings, and adrenaline hits his bloodstream instantly. Without checking to see who it is, he hurriedly answers the call and holds the phone to his ear. 

“Leorio?”

It’s one of the nurses, a young woman named Betalia.

“Hi, Betalia. What’s up?”

“Leorio, Flaviana said you were wondering about Tulani, so...I just wanted to let you know before someone else told you.”

Leorio squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m so sorry,” she continues, her voice trembling.

Something falls away inside of him, echoing down into a dark well.

“When did it happen?” Leorio asks dully.

“The parents took her off life support ten minutes ago. She was already brain dead. It looks like something went wrong at the beginning of the surgery. These things happen. And Leorio...the mother said that you tried to save her. She was really grateful.”

The bartender is staring at him from across the cafe, and Leorio turns away, biting the inside of his cheek so hard that he tastes blood.

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry,” Betalia repeats. “The first one you lose is the worst.”

Leorio exhales slowly. “Yeah. These things happen. Thanks for letting me know, Bets.”

He hangs up and stares blankly at the ceiling.

* * *

It’s not until he’s halfway home that he realizes that he forgot to pay for the wine. He shrugs, figuring that he looked like such a zombie that the bartender let it go.

The rain is finally clearing up, and it’s a beautiful night, crystal stars peeking out from behind fast-moving clouds. As he’s crossing the town square Leorio passes at the old cathedral, and he lets his feet carry him through the arched entryway and into the building.

They must have held mass earlier tonight, and hundreds of candles are flickering against the smooth stone walls. Feeling a little foolish, Leorio heads towards a pew and kneels down, wondering how to go about this.

Unlike Leorio, Pietro had been religious, always fidgeting with rosary beads and occasionally praying aloud when he was upset or frightened. Near the end, he rambled about heaven and angels and damnation. Leorio nodded along to indulge his friend, but after Pietro died it was hard for him to believe that anything worth praying to could be so cruel.

Leorio hears the monks chanting from a distant alcove high above, and the way that the candlelight reflects off of the stained glass windows reminds him of the fractal glitter of a beetle’s wings. 

 _Well, if you’re there, you’re a real asshole_ , he begins, closing his eyes and listening to the monks. _Why take Pietro? And Kurapika’s family? And Tulani? What lesson is there to that?_

The wooden pew makes his knees hurt, and the flickering of the candles casts strange shifting shadows across his closed eyelids. 

_She was only six. Why take someone so pure? Why not someone horrible like Hisoka or Chrollo? Why not someone stupid like Tonpa? Why not someone ordinary, like me?_

Nothing comes down in a beam of beatific light to explain everything to him, so he straightens up and dusts off his slacks and strides out angrily, his shoes clicking against the marble floor.

Leorio finally reaches his apartment, headachy and numb with grief. He trudges up the stairs, and when he gets to his floor he stops in front of his apartment and stares, aghast, because the doorknob is broken. He must have been robbed. An acrid burning smell is drifting from underneath the door, and he wonders with a lurch of fear if he left the stove on.

“Great,” he barks aloud to himself, “just great, that’s what I need at the end of this _shit_ day, that’s just wonderful.” He takes his knife out of his pocket and shoulders open the door to edge inside. “If anyone’s in here, go fuck yourself, because I am _not_ in the mood.”

Leorio shoves open the door, knife drawn, and Kurapika is standing at the sink, wearing his mafia suit and and rinsing a handful of herbs. He glances up in alarm.

“Kurapika...I...what the hell!” Leorio wheezes. “What are you..?”

He can’t get a sentence out, his heart is pounding so hard. If he has one more jolt of adrenaline today he’ll keel over. He clutches his chest like an old man and pockets the knife, breathing hard.

“I apologize for the doorknob,” Kurapika says, drying his hands on a dishtowel. “I had to utilize Nen to open it. I will compensate you for the repair.” He turns away and starts to chop the herbs. 

Something unidentifiable and brown is sizzling in a frying pan, and Leorio realizes that it’s the source of the awful smell. 

“So you broke into my apartment to cook?” he asks weakly.

Kurapika doesn’t answer for a moment, tossing the chopped herbs into the pan with a hiss of steam.

“I heard about the little girl,” he says very quietly. “Your friend told me.”

“Who?”

“Flaviana.”

“Oh,” Leorio says, too tired to press for details, “yeah, well. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I understand,” Kurapika says, staring intently at the floor, “but I thought you might be hungry.”

Leorio’s eyes fill with tears. He crosses the room in two long strides and pulls Kurapika tightly against his chest, breathing into his yellow hair. He feels Kurapika stiffen, and Leorio looks down to see his eyes widen with shock. 

_Both of us could die tomorrow. Life is so short and stupid. What’s the point in waiting?_

Leorio takes a step back to lay a palm against Kurapika’s cheek, his fingers cupping his jaw and brushing the velvety skin behind his ear. His pulse is fluttering in his neck; he’s just as nervous as Leorio.

“Thank you,” Leorio says, his voice breaking, and he leans down to kiss Kurapika.


	6. did you say I’ve got a lot to learn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! sorry for the delay, but A) this chapter was tricky and B) I’m in Japan! wooo! I bought a copy of the new hxh manga from a 7-11 and wept tears of nerd joy (almost). I hope you enjoy this installment, and as always, thank you so much for your feedback. anyways here’s wonderwall.

When Leorio’s lips meet Kurapika’s closed mouth it’s gentle and stumbling, more like a sigh than a kiss. Nonetheless, a dizzying rush of heat spreads from Kurapika’s hairline to his toes, and as Leorio pulls away to touch his forehead against Kurapika’s, they’re both breathless and flushed.

“M’ sorry,” Leorio mumbles, his long fingers threading through Kurapika’s hair, “but it’s just...I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Kurapika can’t formulate a reply. He leans against Leorio’s chest, eye-to-eye with the name tag on his white doctor’s coat, and Leorio wraps his arms around his shoulders to hold him close.

“I thought you left, and...fuck. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Kurapika registers dimly that he should be angry; he should push Leorio away and berate him for crossing their unspoken boundary, but there’s a bittersweet ache in his chest and he’s unable to move a muscle.

  
“No, it’s...it’s okay.”

“Really?”

“I could easily overpower you with my Nen abilities, you know. You didn’t...take advantage of me, or anything.”

Leorio gives a strangled hiccup of a laugh and rests his chin on the top of Kurapika’s head.

“Right. Well. Thanks.”

The chapel bells are chiming again, seven liquid tolls that hang in the evening air. Upstairs, someone is running a bath, and the next door neighbors are pacing around, their footsteps creaking on the wooden floors. Kurapika senses that once he breaks contact he’ll be unable to speak openly, so he keeps his eyes squeezed shut and holds Leorio tightly, breathing in his familiar smell.

Leorio’s breath is hitching. Kurapika opens his eyes to take a step back, frowning.

“You’re upset.”

“I’m sorry,” Leorio says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“For what?”

“For all of this.” Leorio gestures helplessly. “I’m supposed to be the one helping you, but I...I’ve just never had one die before, and...and...I guess I’m not ready to be a doctor yet, anyways, but...and then...I wanted to kiss you for so long, but this is all wrong...I’m sorry.”

He covers his face and takes a shaky breath.

The frying pan has started to burn on the stove, filling the kitchen with acrid smoke. Eyes watering, Kurapika hurries over to turn off the flames. _Damn. It’s ruined_.

“Kurapika?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t leave again.”

Kurapika hesitates, scraping the charred remains of the herbs into the sink.

“I can’t promise that. If a lead comes up—”

“Just not tonight. Please. Not tonight,” Leorio says, his voice breaking.

Once he’s finished cleaning the pan and drying his hands, Kurapika stands in place and deliberates for a moment. His heart is beating so quickly that he feels nauseous.

“Convince me, then,” he says softly, blushing before the words are even out of his mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean convince me to stay. You’re always yelling at me. Lecturing me. Try something else for a change.”

“Well, I worry about you.”

“I liked what you did before.”

“What I...did before?” Leorio says warily.

“You said it was all wrong. So do it again. Do it right this time.”

Kurapika holds his breath and twists the dish towel between his hands as Leorio rises and approaches him, wide-eyed.

“You...you want me to kiss you again? “

Leorio’s voice is hoarse with disbelief, and Kurapika sighs.

“Do I have to spell it out?”

“No,” Leorio replies quickly, “no, that’s...”

He leaves it unfinished and backs Kurapika up against the wall.

This time there’s nothing tentative about it. Kurapika’s breath catches on the inhale when Leorio’s lips press against his, and when he breathes in Leorio breathes with him, running his hands over Kurapika’s back and cupping his neck. Kurapika opens his mouth and lets his tongue explore the sharp points of Leorio’s teeth and the softness of his lips, and Leorio hums low in his throat and almost lifts Kurapika off of his feet.

There’s a painful tension building in Kurapika’s stomach. He clutches at Leorio’s jacket to pull him closer, but when he fumbles at the elastic waistband of his scrubs, Leorio stops kissing him to gently take Kurapika’s hands and hold them to his chest, breathing hard.

“Hold on,” Leorio murmurs, kissing Kurapika’s fingers. “Let’s...let’s slow down a little.”

“Why?” Kurapika demands, leaning in to kiss Leorio on the side of his mouth, and although Leorio’s eyes flutter shut for a second, he places his hands on Kurapika’s shoulders to keep him still.

“Because I like you too much, and because I don’t know if you’ve ever done this before.”

Scowling, Kurapika shrugs off Leorio’s hands and looks at his feet.

“You don’t know that.”

“Okay. But let’s...ah, let’s take a minute. I’m sorry.”

“What do you want, then?” Kurapika snaps, frustrated. Embarrassment and desire are mixing hot and cold in his veins, and he wants to shove Leorio away as much as he wants to throw himself against him. “Didn’t you want to kiss me again?”

“Yes. Very much. But...let’s take a second. Let’s sit down.”

He takes Kurapika by the hand and guides him over to the lumpy couch. They sit side by side, and Leorio holds Kurapika’s hand in both of his, stroking his wrist with his thumbs.

“What happened today, anyways?” Leorio asks, peering at him in concern. “Where were you? Did you meet Linda?”

“I’d rather not discuss it,” Kurapika replies, tugging his hand away to cross his arms across his chest.

“Why not? What happened?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

“Since you broke into my house right after whatever it is you did today, I’d say it’s _definitely_ my goddamn business.”

Kurapika sits in sullen silence for a moment.

“All right. But it’s a long story.”

“I’ve got nowhere to be,” Leorio says seriously, and Kurapika softens.

“I apologize for the ruined meal. You must be hungry.”

“That’s okay. Honestly, it smelled a bit, uh...”

“I believe I may have used the wrong ingredients. I was trying to replicate a traditional Kurta dish eaten in the early spring, but I couldn’t remember precisely what to use for the seasonings, so I improvised.”

“Tch. Like when you tried to make sushi during the exam.”

“Please. Like yours was any better.”

Leorio rustles around in a drawer near the couch and extracts a battered take-out menu written in his language. He takes his cell phone out of his pocket and dials.

“You like pizza?”

“I’ve actually...never had it,” Kurapika admits, and Leorio laughs with his hand over the phone as someone picks up and speaks in a buzz of static. He places an order, jots down a number on the back of the menu, and hangs up before turning to face Kurapika again.

“You’ll like it. It’s great. Wouldn’t survive college without it. So. What happened? You find out what you need to know?”

“Well,” Kurapika says, looking at the ceiling, “sort of.”

* * *

Twelve hours earlier, Kurapika is striding down the street in the dusky pre-dawn light, huddled against the rain and dragging his suitcase over the cobblestones. He’s just left Leorio’s apartment, tiptoeing past Leorio’s unconscious form on the couch, guilty to be sneaking away but relieved to avoid another confrontation. He’s not sure what to do with himself until he meets with Linda at two that afternoon.

Kurapika can’t explain to himself why he needed to leave the apartment, only that the intensity of Leorio’s concern last night frightened him. He knows that Leorio has cared about him for a while now; of course he does, knew it since the Hunter exam but really knew it after his fight with Uvogin back in York Shin. The only thing he recalls from those days of fevered delirium is Leorio, leaning down to put washcloths on his forehead and speaking softly to him and touching his burning face with his cool hands.

He knows, too, that Leorio thinks that his feelings are one-sided, because Kurapika does everything in his power to downplay the affection he feels for him. Beginning anything other than casual friendship with another human being would only distract Kurapika from his sole purpose: reclaiming the eyes and avenging the Kurta. Until now, he’s managed to divert and brush aside and withdraw from any instances in which Leorio seems to know too much, but last night something shifted between them, and Kurapika’s not sure he can keep up the facade.

He shivers and buttons up his trench coat as he walks, keeping an eye out for a deserted cafe where he can kill some time. He stops at a drugstore to buy a new pair of dark contacts and ducks into the bathroom to insert them, his eyes stinging as he slides them under his lids. After another ten minutes of walking, he finds a dingy tea house and orders a coffee from the gum-chewing waitress. Sipping the weak coffee, he takes out his laptop to read more about the Immortals.

By one he’s so caffeinated and jittery that he’s jumping out of his skin at the slightest interruption, and the waitress shoots him dirty looks whenever he clatters his spoon against his saucer with his trembling hands. After a particularly nasty glare, Kurapika leaves exact change for the bill and gathers up his coat and laptop.

Linda has requested that they meet in the university’s medical library, and Kurapika glances around nervously for Leorio or any of his classmates as he walks across campus. The school is imposing, comprised of several large brick buildings and dotted with statues of various scientific trailblazers and rich donors.

There’s a small statue of a foxbear and its cubs in front of the library, and since the sign is written in the international Hunter language, Kurapika leans down to read it: it’s a memorial for the animal victims of drug trials. He sighs. The Kurta rarely ate meat, and they never hunted for sport. He shakes his head and continues inside, searching the tightly-packed shelves for the spot that Linda described in her note. Finally he finds the correct table (nestled between the shelves of nephrology books), and sits down to wait, prodding his eyelids to ensure that his new contacts are inserted correctly.

Linda shows up a few minutes before two, looking anxious and unhappy. She’s wearing her white lab coat over a demure brown turtleneck, and her hair is pulled back into a severe bun. She takes a seat across from Kurapika with a resigned expression, folding her hands in her lap.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Kurapika begins politely. “I apologize for my outburst last night. I assure you that I have no qualms with you personally and wish you no harm. However, due to the urgency of my task, I must inform you that I will attain my goal by any means necessary.”

Linda nods, not meeting his eyes. “Got it.”

“I’m just looking for information on Yakushin. The sooner that you cooperate with me, the sooner this meeting will be over.”

“Okay. Sure.”

Linda looks so uncomfortable that Kurapika almost feels sympathetic, until he remembers what he’s there to do. She keeps glancing over to the door and fussing with her cell phone, mindlessly pressing the volume buttons up and down. There’s something disarmingly girlish about her; Kurapika has no idea how old she is. Based on the age of her child, he’d guess that she’s somewhere in her late twenties, but she’s so self-conscious and fidgety that she could be much younger.

A muscle jumps in Kurapika’s jaw, and he leans in closer. Under the table, he activates his dowsing chain and hangs it against his thigh so that he’ll feel it if Linda lies and it starts to move.

“Linda, when and where do the Immortals convene? I’m aware that there are several clandestine meetings throughout the year.”

“Well, I can’t tell you _that_ ,” Linda says, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. “Surely you understand.”

“Are you worried about retribution if you do? Would they kill you? If you give me the information I need, I can offer protection.”

To his surprise, Linda laughs, covering her mouth. Students immersed in homework at nearby tables look up at her, disgruntled, and she ducks her head meekly in apology.

“Oh, no. Yakushin would never hurt me. I just don’t know when the meetings are, that’s all. I’m not high-ranking enough yet. They only tell you a day in advance.”

“Oh,” Kurapika replies, a bit deflated. She’s telling the truth, and under the table the dowsing chain remains completely still. “Then can you tell me what happens at these meetings? The ones you’ve attended?”

“Sure,” she says, shrugging, “but it’s not terribly interesting, you see, because we don’t have all of the ingredients for the next batch yet. It’s mostly just, like, speeches. And fundraising.”

“By batches I take it you’re referring to the alchemy ceremonies? To create the elixir for ‘everlasting life’, as your group claims?”

“If that’s what you’re calling it, then yes. The last time a batch was completed was two years ago, right after I joined the organization.”

 _Organization is a nice way of putting it,_ Kurapika thinks savagely, _when they’re a bunch of terrorist scum_. He keeps his expression bland as he answers.

“And what were the ingredients?”

Linda’s eyes dart around, and she lowers her voice to a whisper.

“Well. It’s. Um. It’s pretty complicated?”

Kurapika waits.

“It’s, ah...let’s see. There’s a lot of boring things. Chemicals. I don’t remember everything exactly, but I have it written down.” She flips open her cell phone and begins to read after a moment of searching.

“Formaldehyde, carbonite, hexamine, etoposide, carboplatin...and then some weirder stuff. Nightshade blossom, Lurka tree frog hide, Kiriko fur, melanin lizard excretion. And then it gets to the rarer components. Stuff that we’ve only found once or twice, or never. Chimera ant saliva. Kurta eyes. Kakinese gold ore.”

“So that’s why you have so many Hunters,” Kurapika says. The chain is steady below the table, and he takes a long inhale, feeling the faint buzz of scarlet rage at the edge of his vision. “That’s quite a recipe.”

“Right,” Linda agrees, “and they’ve never gotten everything at once, but five years ago when they got close, they healed several terminal cancer patients.”

_What a load of bullshit. All of that stuff put together would kill you._

“I see.”

“Yeah. So, so what they do after you join, they assign you to somewhere where you can work to track down one specific ingredient. I got lucky. Some people are way out in the jungle looking for frogs and stuff. But I managed to finish my assignment relatively quickly. So I think we’re really close to the completed batch.”

“They assigned you to work with Dr. Xavier?” Kurapika asks, his pulse quickening.

“Yes.”

“Because he’s a leading ophthalmologist? Or because he helped you obtain the pair of eyes?” He clenches his fists under the table.

Instead of answering, Linda tilts her head to look at him and gives him a sad smile.

“I know who you are.”

“You do?”

“You’re a Kurta, aren’t you? I thought your people were gone.”

She reaches out and lays a hand on his arm. Kurapika stiffens.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and the chain remains still.

“You should be,” Kurapika says curtly.

“I know that what we’re doing is...well, it’s gross, and I can’t imagine how it makes you feel. Could have been someone you knew, I guess.”

 _You have no fucking idea, you witch._ Kurapika removes her hand from his arm.

“Then perhaps you can imagine the level of distress it causes me.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. I promise I would give them back to you if I could. But,” she continues, her large eyes filling with tears, “look, it’s not _me_ I care about living forever. Not like some of the crazy people in the group.” She shudders and blows her nose on a handkerchief produced from somewhere within her lab coat. “But...you see...it’s Cal.”

She gazes down at her phone screen at the photo of the little boy with the stuffed rabbit, chin trembling.

“Your son?”

“Yes,” she replies tremulously. “He’s only six. And he’s sick, and he’s not getting better, and he’s going to die.”

Kurapika’s stomach clenches. He wishes that the chain would swing wildly around, but it remains stubbornly still. Dejected, he turns off his Nen and puts it away.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kurapika asks, not unkindly. Linda struggles to pull herself together, sniffling and dabbing at her tear-stained face.

“Salazari’s disease. Usually kills the patient within three years of diagnosis. He was diagnosed when he was four. He’s been in a hospice facility for the past year.”

Linda exhales loudly and balls up her handkerchief. She looks at Kurapika with desperation in her eyes.

“I’ve tried everything else. Doctors won’t treat him any more. Say it’s a lost cause. But if there’s any chance, any at all, that this could give him a little longer, then I’m going to do whatever it takes. I’m not doing this for myself. You have to believe me.”

“I do,” Kurapika says simply, and they sit in silence, staring away from one another as the students flow around them. “I do.”

* * *

The pizza arrives in the middle of Kurapika’s story, and while Leorio leaps up to answer the door and pay the delivery man, he continues to listen, quiet and enraptured.

“So,” Kurapika finishes, “it’s...it’s a lot more complicated that I had originally imagined.”

“I’ll say.”

Leorio opens the box of pizza and displays it to Kurapika. It’s covered in anchovies and olives, and it’s already left grease splatters on the cardboard box.

“Ugh,” Kurapika says as Leorio takes a bite.

“Try it! Eat something for a change.”

Hesitantly, Kurapika picks up a greasy slice and nibbles an anchovy off of it. It’s fishy and violently salty, but he’s hungry enough to choke down a few bites as Leorio starts on his second slice.

“And guess wha’?” Leorio mumbles through a mouthful of food. “I talked to someone today too.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Xavier. I got Linda’s email, but I guess that doesn’t really matter now. But, guess what else?”

“Leorio, just tell me.”

“Fine. Well, someone else had Salazari’s disease. Linda’s husband. Turns out he died from it a few years ago. Dr. Xavier was pretty torn up about it.”

“Oh. That makes sense. Is it a genetic disease? What are the symptoms and effects?”

Leorio grimaces, picking off an olive and swallowing it whole. “Um...”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know. Aren’t you a doctor?” Kurapika asks, rolling his eyes.

“First of all, I’m still a student, and secondly, I, uh, was a little busy today, Kurapika.”

Kurapika stops chewing and looks at Leorio, ashamed.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s okay.”

They eat in silence for several minutes, lost in thought. One of the neighbors is blasting a loud television show, and they keep hearing random bursts of singing and canned laughter through the walls.

“You said the kid’s six?” Leorio grunts.

“Yes.”

“God.”

“Yes. And she was telling the truth.”

“Still though. She’s smart enough to get into med school. How can she buy into all of this cult crap?”

Kurapika sighs. “I don’t know. I assume she’s being manipulated or threatened.”

“When it’s your kid, though,” Leorio says thoughtfully, “maybe...you just don’t care. Maybe you’ll try anything.”

“I suppose so.”

“Makes it a lot more complicated, though.”

“Yes.”

“So now what?”

Kurapika takes their dirty plates and starts to clean them, letting the hot water run over his hands for longer than necessary. “I guess we wait.”

Leorio looks up uncertainly.

“You’ll stay...?”

“Linda thinks they’ll make the next batch very soon, and that’s when they’ll all meet. She promised to alert me when that happens.” He closes his eyes. “Is it all right if I stay until then?”

“Of course. Of _course_. You don’t have to ask.”

“Thank you.”

They stand facing one another awkwardly, and Kurapika takes a deep breath.

“Leorio.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m very sorry to hear about the little girl.”

“Ah, it’s all right,” Leorio says gruffly, but his dark eyes glitter with tears. “I mean, it’s awful, but, y’know. Gotta toughen up at some point.”

“Well. Perhaps. But Leorio?” Kurapika continues, his pulse rushing in his ears.

“Hm?”

“You can...I mean, you don’t have to take the couch tonight.”

Leorio’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows, and Kurapika’s palms start to itch.

“Are you...are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Leorio blinks several times, gazing at Kurapika intently.

“Okay. Then, um. I’ll be...I’ll be right back.”

He rushes into the bathroom and closes the door, and Kurapika hears him brushing his teeth and gargling furiously. Smiling faintly, he walks into the dark bedroom and loosens his tie.


	7. eyes and fires and signs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, let me know if you'd like my playlist of songs that helped inspire this fic and I'll inbox you! 
> 
> thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Leorio brushes his teeth ferociously to remove any trace of the anchovies, and once his gums are good and raw he gargles twice for good measure. The alcoholic bite of the mouthwash makes his eyes smart. He spits in the sink and straightens up to anxiously survey his reflection in his cloudy mirror.

He’s absolutely fucking exhausted, and he looks it. His hair is bordering on greasy, and his eyes sag with dark shadows behind his glasses. His white coat is stained with coffee and pen ink and other things that he doesn’t want to think about, and his green scrubs underneath aren’t much better.

Sighing, he shrugs off the coat and splashes some icy water on his face to perk himself up. He takes his cologne out of the medicine cabinet and dabs a little onto his wrists and behind his ears. Ideally, he would take a shower (preferably a very cold one), but that seems embarrassingly overeager. Clicking off the bathroom light, he stands in the darkness for a moment, almost light-headed with anticipation.

He walks into the bedroom. His stomach does a backflip at the sight of Kurapika perched on the end of the bed, his tie undone around his neck.

“Hey,” Leorio says, his mouth dry.

“Hello,” Kurapika replies, giving him a small smile.

“Is it too bright?” Leorio asks quickly, jumping up to turn off the overhead lights as Kurapika watches in bemusement. “Wait, no, now that’s too dark. Uh. Hold on...”

He fumbles blindly for the lamp on his nightstand, his hands clattering against his picture frames until he finds the switch and the room is suffused with a softer glow.

“There. That’s better.”

He starts to sit down again before remembering that he has a candle stashed away somewhere in his closet, but as he gets to his feet again to look for it he’s stopped by Kurapika’s delicate fingers on his wrist.

“This is fine.”

Leorio exhales. “Okay.”

They’re sitting about two feet away from one another. Kurapika lets his hand rest lightly on Leorio’s arm, and Leorio can barely breathe.

He has no plan here. The entire day has been such a strange rollercoaster already, and in Leorio’s daydreams, this part usually happens after he takes Kurapika out for dinner and cocktails somewhere ritzy. He’d be wearing his nicest suit, and he wouldn’t have the dying breaths of a little girl replaying in his head.

But still. Good lord. Kurapika is right here in front of him, watching him with his head tilted to the side, the lamplight glinting off of his golden hair every time he moves. Leorio wonders if he’s dreaming.

“I missed you,” Leorio says softly. “God, I...I missed you so much. I’m sorry I tricked you into coming here. I just...”

He reaches out to thread his fingers through the ends of Kurapika’s hair, lifting it where it lays against his collar and letting it fall.

“Don’t give yourself too much credit. For your information, you’ve always been a terrible liar.”

There’s a hint of a smile tugging at Kurapika’s mouth. Leorio narrows his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you have to ask, Leorio,” Kurapika sighs, exasperated, but he moves his hand from Leorio’s wrist to his thigh. “Let’s...not talk about it now.”

That seems like a good idea, because Leorio’s brain has clocked out and gone home for the night. Kurapika’s touch sends a rippling shiver down his spine. Leorio combs Kurapika’s hair away from his face and leans to kiss him behind his ear. He traces his tongue against the soft skin there, and he’s rewarded with a shuddering gasp. When Kurapika moves to kiss Leorio again, Leorio pulls Kurapika backwards with him onto the bed so that they’re lying side by side.

Leorio pauses to gaze at Kurapika in disbelief for a moment. Until now, when Leorio’s been with Kurapika he’s always stealing glances at his face; constantly looking over to catch a glimpse of him while he’s concentrating on something or talking to one of their friends or poring over a book. The only time Leorio has had a long, uninterrupted stretch of time to memorize Kurapika’s face was when he was sick.

Leorio stares hungrily, drinking in Kurapika’s severe elegance in his black suit, the way his silky hair catches against his jacket, the unnerving sheen of his large eyes behind the contacts. There’s a dusting of freckles across his pointed nose, and a tiny scar over an eyebrow that Leorio has never noticed before. He touches it lightly.

“What’s this?”

“Oh...Pairo threw a rock at me. We were young.”

“What a jerk.”

“Not at all. We were skipping rocks in a river, and he misjudged his aim. His vision was very poor. It was only a small cut.”

Leorio kisses the scar anyway, smoothing a hand across Kurapika’s forehead.

“Don’t you want to take this off?”

Leorio tugs at Kurapika’s suit jacket, and Kurapika nods and shrugs out of it. He sits up to fold it carefully and place it on the nightstand before coming back down to run a hand across Leorio’s chest.

“And you? Your scrubs seem rather...” Kurapika begins diplomatically, tracing a disinfectant stain across Leorio’s breast pocket.

“Yeah, sorry,” Leorio apologizes, grinning nervously, “they’re, uh, pretty gross. Hang on.”

He scrambles out of bed to yank off his shirt and pants, too fatigued and excited and overwhelmed to feel embarrassed by his polka-dot boxers for longer than a second. Kurapika, still dressed in his white shirt and black slacks, looks up in alarm.

“Oh. I didn’t realize...” he says, blushing slightly.

“I usually don’t wear clothes under my clothes, if that’s what you’re asking,” Leorio teases, giving him a playful shove on the arm as he lies back down next to him.

He leans over Kurapika for a slow kiss, breathing him in and fumbling for the buttons of Kurapika’s shirt. Feeling Kurapika tense beneath him, Leorio pauses, his fingers hovering over the top button.

“Is this all right?” Leorio asks in a low voice. Kurapika hesitates before he nods, and Leorio removes his hand.

“Do you wanna stop?” he asks, suddenly anxious.

“No,” Kurapika says hurriedly, “no, I’m sorry, it’s just...”

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Are you _sure_?”

In reply, Kurapika takes Leorio’s earlobe between his teeth. Leorio can’t hold back a quiet groan.

“Fuck. Kurapika...”

“Be quiet,” Kurapika hisses, and Leorio obeys.

Slowly, slowly, he unbuttons Kurapika’s shirt, and inch by inch the moon-pale skin of his chest and stomach is revealed. Leorio drags a fingernail from the hollow of Kurapika’s collarbone to his sloping waist, and Kurapika closes his eyes.

Leorio wants to scream and laugh and run outside and tell the whole world that finally, _finally_ , Kurapika is here in his arms, kissing the side of his neck and sliding tentative fingers under the elastic of his boxers, and yet he feels his eyes overflowing with hot tears. He blinks them away before Kurapika can see, his eyes still shut as Leorio struggles with the zipper of his suit pants.

“There’s a—it’s a button,” Kurapika mumbles, reaching down to assist Leorio’s clumsy hands. “Here.”

He unhooks a hidden clasp somewhere in the folds of black fabric and tosses the pants aside, muttering under his breath about how much ironing he’ll need to do in the morning.

Somewhere a night bird is singing. The last evening train whistles by a few blocks away, rattling the dishes in the kitchen. It’s cold enough in the apartment that Leorio feels goosebumps rising up on his arms and legs, and he pulls Kurapika against him, marveling at the electric thrill of their bare skin together.

“Shall we call Gon and Killua first?” Kurapika asks, wonderfully deadpan, and Leorio lets out a snort of laughter. He leans down to brush his mouth against Kurapika’s hipbones, where his skin is petal-soft.

* * *

 Later they’re drowsing in bed, moonbeams filtering through the slatted blinds in narrow stripes of light.

“What do you think, Leorio? Would you like to live forever?” Kurapika whispers, tracing a circle on Leorio’s back with a lazy finger.

“Hmm?”

Leorio’s half asleep, his mouth pressed against Kurapika’s hair.

“The Immortals, I mean.”

“Oh. Well. If you were with me, then yes. Of course...”

A rustle of bedsheets shifting.

“But you wouldn’t. Not really. Nobody would. It would be hell, eventually.”

Kurapika runs his tongue along the soft corners of Leorio’s mouth, sighs into a kiss.

“Not with you, Kurapika. This would never...”

Another kiss, aching with need.

“I could never get tired of this.”

Their hands on one another, a whisper of skin on skin. A hushed gasp.

“Leorio...”

“Like that?”

“Yes...Leorio...just like that.”

* * *

 Leorio can’t sleep. It’s four in the morning and he’s dying to get up and pee, but Kurapika is fast asleep and curled against him like a cat. His right arm and most of both legs have gone completely numb, but he can’t bring himself to wake Kurapika up.

He wants so badly to enjoy every minute of this, but his mind is still whirling. Tulani and her mother, the Immortals, Linda and Dr. Xavier and Pietro and the Kurta. The ruby-bright stained glass in the cathedral, the blood of the surgery, the bottle of scarlet wine at the cafe; all of it pulsing behind his exhausted eyes like a lighthouse flickering across a dark ocean.

Carefully, Leorio reaches for his phone on the nightstand, pausing when Kurapika stirs slightly. He dims the screen brightness as low as possible, and once he’s settled back in position, Kurapika drooling a little onto his shoulder, he opens a browser and types in _Salazari’s disease._

Nothing comes up until the fourth page of search results, on which he spots an entry in a medical journal from seven years ago. Squinting at the screen, Leorio feels around on the nightstand for his glasses and perches them on the bridge of his nose.

  
_Background  
Herein, we report an rare case of late-stage Salazari’s Disease, which is largely untreatable and endemic in tropical regions._

_Case presentation  
The patient, Gregor Zottario, was a 27-year-old Padokian man, suffering from intense pain in the gastrointestinal tract, memory loss, and chronic skin lesions. Symptoms were treated unsuccessfully with targeted radiation, morphine, and antihistamines. After seventeen months of active care, the subject chose to cease treatment and entered palliative care._

Leorio frowns as he skims the rest of the article, but it’s just information detailing the chemical components of each medication; nothing else about the patient or the disease itself.

_Is Linda from Padokia? Did Xavier mention something about that?_

He’s too tired to remember, so he bookmarks the article, rubbing his eyes. He hesitates for a moment before opening his emails, and there’s one from the resident doctor of his unit, as he expected. Scanning it quickly, he’s relieved to see that he hasn’t been kicked out of school yet, but his heart sinks when he sees that he’s being advised to switch out of pediatric surgery for a month or two. _The high-pressure environment of the surgical ICU is intense even for experienced doctors, so don’t be too hard on yourself._

Leorio winces at the patronizing tone. Tomorrow he’ll have to face his teachers and talk about Tulani. The thought of it makes the whole day come rushing back, and he can’t let himself go there yet. Not right now. He needs a few more hours of forgetting. He closes his eyes and drapes his arm across Kurapika’s chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his steady breathing.

He’s almost out cold when Kurapika starts to whimper, jerking and twitching in his sleep. He’s breathing fast and struggling against Leorio’s leaden arms, and Leorio opens his eyes groggily and nudges Kurapika.

“Hey. Hey. You’re dreaming.”

Kurapika cries out wordlessly, his eyes jumping behind their closed lids, and Leorio shakes him by his shoulders until he jolts awake with a shudder. In the glow of the streetlights, Leorio sees tears glistening on his face.

“You’re okay,” Leorio says, hugging Kurapika as he trembles. “Just a dream, sweetheart.”

Gradually Kurapika’s breathing slows, and he rolls of out Leorio’s arms to face the wall. Leorio wants to reach for him again, but before he knows it he’s sinking back into sleep.


	8. smoke gets in your eyes

For the first time in a long time, Kurapika goes home in his dreams.

He’s walking down the old trail by the river, the one that connects his house with Pairo’s, the one that cuts straight through the forest and opens up into a field of wildflowers that bloom yellow and lavender each year when the sunlight starts to change from blazing white to shimmering gold.

The damp earth is cool beneath his bare feet, and as he steps lightly across the mossy riverbank he hums to himself, some old half-remembered song they played at the harvest festivals. Is it autumn, here in his dream? The trees are flame-tipped, and the air smells like woodsmoke and sweet hay. He quickens his pace, twisting off a pine needle from a nearby shrub to crush it between his fingers and breathe in its waxy perfume.

Follow the river around the bend and turn left at the birch tree: that’s the way to Pairo’s house. Kurapika’s parents, like most Kurta families, lived in the the tight-knit cluster of homes in the middle of the forest, but some people preferred living deeper in the woods.

Kurapika pauses at the birch tree and reaches out to touch its silvery bark before continuing on.

He finds a familiar clearing and gazes up at Pairo’s house, but in the dream it’s not quite right. Corners stick out at weird angles and the windows have an unsettling milky quality to them, like a blown-out camera flashbulb. Kurapika swallows, hesitating, before shouting Pairo’s name three times. That was always how they did it.

Around him the forest has started melting and shifting like frost on a windowpane, but Kurapika ignores it and waits. Someone’s whispering behind him, calling to him in Kurta, but he can’t understand enough of it to make sense of anything.

At last he hears the familiar creak of the house’s heavy stone door. Pairo bounds outside, yanking a red tunic over his mop of brown hair and beaming at him. Kurapika rushes forward to embrace him, but Pairo takes a step backwards.

“They say it won’t be long now,” Pairo says, still smiling.

“It won’t be long,” Kurapika agrees without knowing why. Pairo nods, and they start to walk. Kurapika starts humming the old song again and Pairo joins in, closing his eyes and swaying.

Plumes of smoke from the village rise up over the treetops, and they walk towards the center of the forest without speaking for a while. Vines and branches creep out towards them, thorny tendrils snaking across their wrists and ankles and snagging the fabric of their clothes, but they yank themselves free and brush them aside.

It’s quiet when they arrive. The dome-shaped wooden huts are backlit with the fierce orange glow of the setting sun, and two black crows wheel and shriek in lazy circles above them. Kurapika hesitates in front of his family’s doorway.

“It’s here?”

“Don’t you remember?” Pairo asks earnestly from behind him, his large eyes shining in his pudgy face. “This is it, Kurapika. It won’t be long.”

“It won’t be long,” Kurapika echoes, and he carefully pushes open the carved wooden door.

His mother is sweeping the hearth, and his father sits at the table with his back to the door. Kurapika is flooded with tenderness. When he tries to greet his parents he finds that his throat is sodden with tears, and when his mother’s eyes widen in recognition, his chest is crushed with a warm, aching weight, so painful and sweet that he can’t speak or breathe.

* * *

“Hey. Hey. You’re dreaming.”

* * *

 “Dearest,” his mother says, opening her arms to him as her eyes crinkle into a gentle smile, and Kurapika walks or glides or floats to her somehow, crying so hard in the dream that he can’t stand up straight. Her arms are heavy and soft, and he buries his face in her chest and sobs.

“You’ve been gone for so long.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurapika chokes out in halting Kurta, “I’m so sorry, I tried to come back. I didn’t want to leave you, I just...” he trails off, and his mother strokes his hair and rocks him like a child.

After a long moment of dream-time Kurapika realizes that his father still hasn’t turned in his chair, and he reluctantly pulls away from his mother to walk around the table.

“Father?” Kurapika says, too loudly, but his mother only shakes her head.

Tiny black beetles scuttle in and out of his father’s hollow eye sockets, and he’s very still in the chair, leaning forward at an unnatural angle. Outside, the crows squawk and mutter. The air grows thick with noxious smoke. Kurapika recoils in horror, panic and disgust clutching at his heart.

“No! Father!”

Desperately, he looks back at his mother, and she’s crying silently, bloody tears leaving tracks on her pale face. He falls to the ground and howls.

* * *

“You’re okay.”

Kurapika jolts awake, covered in clammy sweat and trembling from head to toe. He stares around wildly into the blackness of the bedroom, fighting down a wave of sour nausea and breathing hard. Gradually he becomes aware of large hands shaking his shoulders, and he squints into the darkness to make out Leorio’s face in the shadows.

  
“Just a dream, sweetheart,” Leorio murmurs, wrapping his arms around him sleepily and pulling him into his chest.

Kurapika allows himself approximately two minutes of complete surrender against Leorio’s warm skin before rolling out of his embrace to face the wall, feigning sleep. Once Leorio’s snuffling snores resume, Kurapika slips out of bed and tiptoes to the window, picking up Leorio’s overlarge bathrobe from the floor and pulling it around himself. Perching on the windowsill, he looks out at the foggy street below and wipes his face dry.

_Control yourself. Don’t be so weak._

The blinking digital clock on the nightstand informs him that it’s only 4:47 am. Nobody else seems to be awake yet. Down on the street, the lights are haloed with mist, and the clouds are a bruised purplish brown. Snow sky, his father would have said.

He feels heartsick and disappointed that the dream is over; he’d take that dream any night over his usual fare. At least he got to talk to his mother, and touch her, and hear her voice. And Pairo was there...

Kurapika tucks his chin against his knees, the gritty pressure of exhaustion pulsing behind his eyes. He wants to crawl back into bed and sleep, but instead he stays rooted in place on the windowsill, watching the horizon lighten from inky black to an iridescent pale blue.

* * *

He must have dozed off at some point, because when he opens his eyes again it’s light outside and Leorio’s alarm is blaring on the nightstand. Leorio staggers out of bed and slams a hand against the alarm clock until it’s quiet. Halfway through getting dressed in his uniform, he glances up at Kurapika in surprise and freezes with one arm inside of his white jacket.

“You’re still here.”

“Evidently,” Kurapika replies, his voice raspy. When he swallows, his throat is painful and raw, and he feels feverish and achy all over. Leorio pins his name tag to the front of his jacket and strides over to the windowsill, peering at Kurapika with concern.

“Are you all right?”

Kurapika says nothing. Leorio lays a cool palm against Kurapika’s forehead, and Kurapika leans into his touch for a moment before batting his hand away.

“You’re burning up. Don’t you want to sleep more? My shift starts in twenty minutes, but you can stay here.”

“No,” Kurapika replies tersely, getting to his feet and brushing past Leorio, “I’ll accompany you. I need to get more information out of Linda before the Immortals convene. It could be any time now, so I need to be prepared.”

“I’m not bringing you with me. You shouldn’t visit a hospital with a fever.”

“I have work to do. If you won’t help me, I will continue working alone.”

“You could get everyone sick. That’s pretty selfish.”

“I don’t care.”

As Kurapika gathers up his clothing from the floor, he’s hit with a wave of dizziness. The world tilts worryingly under his feet and he stumbles, catching himself on the chair in the corner. He straightens up immediately, clutching his suit jacket, but he’s not fast enough to fool Leorio.

“Look, I only have a three-hour shift this morning, and then I’ll be back. I’ll keep an eye out for Linda. Who knows,” Leorio adds with a bitter laugh, “maybe they kicked me out already and I won’t have to work at all. Please, Kurapika. Just rest for now. You look terrible.”

Kurapika opens his mouth to argue, but Leorio looks so uncharacteristically tired, standing there with an armful of textbooks and deep circles lining his eyes, that Kurapika relents.

“All right. Fine.”

“Don’t leave the minute I walk out the door, okay? I can’t afford to worry about you all day.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Leorio snaps, shoving his feet into his shoes and unlocking the front door, “I will anyways.”

He shuts the door, grumbling, and Kurapika listens as his heavy footfalls on the staircase grow fainter. A few minutes pass, and just as Kurapika is pulling out his cell phone to check his messages, the footsteps come stomping up the stairs and Leorio bursts back inside.

Before Kurapika registers what’s happening, Leorio is wrapping his arms around him and planting a stubble-scratchy kiss on his temple.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a jerk.”

Kurapika blinks, startled. “Uh.”

“I’m already late, but you can meet me at the hospital after my shift ends at noon if you want to do some digging. Do you need the address?”

“No, I know where it is.”

“Great. And, uh,” Leorio stammers, heading towards the door again and rubbing the back of his neck, “I know you probably don’t care about this kind of thing, but here it’s kind of a big deal, I guess, I mean, we don’t have to, but, uh...”

Kurapika watches, nonplussed, as Leorio turns a violent shade of magenta.

“Would you, um, like to have dinner with me tonight? It’s, well, it’s Valentine’s Day, and I thought maybe, well, if you’re feeling better and you don’t have something else you need to do, er—”

“I would like that,” Kurapika interjects politely.

“Really?” Leorio asks after a surprised pause, and Kurapika can’t hold back an exasperated sigh.

“Yes. Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Agh. Now I’m really late.”

Checking his watch and groaning, Leorio bounds out the door again, and this time his rapid footsteps on the stairwell disappear into silence after a few minutes.

The apartment suddenly feels large and empty. _He’s like a tornado,_ Kurapika thinks, shaking his head. _So noisy._

He takes a long shower, leaning against the tiled wall and closing his eyes under the hot water. There’s a wine-colored bruise on his collarbone from Leorio’s mouth, and he trails a fingertip against it. His body reacts obediently, flushing with heat as he remembers the sensation of Leorio’s warm lips against his skin, but Kurapika has long since trained himself to ignore most of his biological urges. He turns the tap water several degrees colder and washes his hair slowly.

When he’s finished bathing he pulls on his white Kurta training outfit. It’s the only traditional clothing he has left now, and it’s starting to wear out in the knees and elbows. He picks at a fraying seam and gazes through the window. A flock of starlings swoops and dives in graceful synchronicity over the rooftops, dark flecks of movement against the pearly sheen of the morning sky.

Dimly, he registers that his throat has grown so sore and swollen that he can barely swallow. With the intention of making tea, he drifts into the kitchen to rummage through Leorio’s drawers, pushing aside a jumble of takeout menus and bottle caps. He can’t find any teabags, but at the bottom of the drawer he finds a wrinkled map of the city. Frowning, he pulls it out and smoothes it flat across Leorio’s desk.

_Worth a try, at least._

He closes his eyes until he feels the familiar surge of Nen sparking across his skull. The metal dowsing chain materializes against his hand, cold and heavy, and once his eyes are burning he opens them to stare down at the map.

“Show me Yakushin,” Kurapika whispers. “Is he in this region yet?”

The dowsing chain trembles almost imperceptibly, or perhaps it’s only the movement of his unsteady hand. He holds his breath and waits, squinting through the stinging red haze.

“Show me the Scarlet Eyes. Yakushin has them. Is he near?”

The chain pulls taut towards the northwest corner of the map, landing squarely on a patch of blank ocean. Kurapika bites the inside of his cheek. Flipping the map over, he spots a smaller map on the back; it shows a zoomed-in section of the northern coastline that’s peppered with small islands. He shakes out the dowsing chain with a clatter and tries again.

There. A tiny unmarked speck of land about 40 miles to the north. Grabbing a marker from Leorio’s desk drawer, Kurapika uncaps it with his teeth and circles the island several times.

He releases his Nen with a sigh and rubs the raw skin of his hand, wincing. The air is thick with the burnt-match smell of an aura burst, and he’s shaking. 

_How long was that? Two minutes, perhaps?_

He starts to do the math in his head and immediately stops, growing nauseous. Suddenly exhausted, he slumps against the desk chair and presses his hands against his closed eyelids until the prickling heat subsides.

So Yakushin is already in the country. The meeting must be soon. He needs to keep closer tabs on Linda and grill her for every possible piece of information before he attempts to infiltrate the group. If his mob dealings have taught him anything, it’s that the group will be extremely suspicious of any potential outsiders, and he will need to know how to blend in convincingly. Exactly how he’ll manage that he’s not sure yet, and that’s why he needs Linda to cooperate.

Too impatient and wound up to go back to sleep, Kurapika changes into his suit, grabs his coat from the rack in the hallway, and walks five blocks from the apartment to wait for the city bus. It’s only nine in the morning, but he’ll find something to do until Leorio’s shift finishes at noon. He’s properly sick now, his head throbbing with fever and his body wracked with chills. As he jams his hands into his coat pockets to warm up, he finds a plastic bag of aspirin and a note written in Leorio’s messy scrawl that instructs him to take two pills every three hours with a glass of water.

When did Leorio even find the time to do that? Kurapika hides a smile behind his hand as the bus pulls up to the curb in a cloud of exhaust. Coughing, Kurapika climbs aboard and deposits a handful of unfamiliar coins into the fare box, and once he’s settled in a seat near the back he pulls out his cell phone and dials Linda’s number.

She picks up after seven rings, and Kurapika clenches his fists and breathes slowly through his nose. _Control yourself._

“Yeah?”

Kurapika glances around warily, but the morning commuters on the bus seem benignly uninterested, yawning and putting in earbuds and reading the paper. He lowers his voice anyways, cupping a hand around the receiver.

“Hello, Linda. I have received information from a source that Yakushin is in the area. Do you have any updates on when the group will be convening?”

“I can’t talk right now.”

Her voice is barely above a whisper. Kurapika plugs one finger in his ear to drown out the ambient noise of the bus.

“Why not? Are you being threatened? If you give me the information I need, I can offer protection.”

“No, I just...I’m not doing this. I can’t help you. I don’t want to do this.”

“Linda, wait. Did something happen with Callisto?”

The line goes dead. Kurapika redials her number, but all he gets is a dial tone; she’s disconnected her phone. He spits out a Kurta curse under his breath and stares at the black screen in dismay.


	9. single petal of a rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comin in hot with a LONG-ASS new chapter for you this week! So, bear with me, because I used the expression “when in Rome” and then realized upon editing that Rome is more of a real-world place and not so much a Hunter world place, but like...if they can have a city called York New in the canon universe, hopefully we can all suspend our disbelief for the sake of one line of this chapter and pretend that Rome also exists. If this bothers you, then I would like to be your friend, because that means you’re as big of a dork as I am. I hope you’re still enjoying the story, and I promise that there will be more fluff and sweetness down the line. But what kind of a story would it be without some teeth-gnashing and angst? 
> 
> Thank you again for the kudos and lovely comments! If you’re American, enjoy your thanksgiving weekend, and if you’re not American, I’m pretty jealous of you because our country is a cesspool at the moment.

Leorio should be thinking about the test he failed yesterday. He should be thinking about poor Tulani, and her grief-stricken parents, and the fact that today may be the day that he’s kicked out of medical school. He should also be thinking about Linda and her sick kid and her mysterious dead husband, and her ties to the Immortals, and Dr. Xavier’s strange connection to the whole thing. He should probably study up more on Salazari’s disease. It’s time for him to buckle down and deal with everything.

But as he hurries to catch the bus in the frigid morning air, wheezing slightly as he runs the last block at a flat-footed sprint, he thinks only of Kurapika. His heart swells with joy, expanding and billowing in his chest like a sail in the wind.

He squeezes onto the crowded bus and grabs a pole as it lurches into motion. As the other passengers busy themselves with newspapers and sandwiches and cell phones, Leorio gazes out the window and smiles dreamily to himself. He replays the previous night in his mind’s eye; Kurapika leaning to kiss him in the darkness, all silky hair and soft lips and wiry limbs, the sound of Kurapika’s low voice in his ear urging him on, the feel of their legs intertwining.

Lifting his wrist to his nose, Leorio inhales surreptitiously and catches a whiff of Kurapika’s distinctive scent on his skin. He closes his eyes in pleasure, breathing in the smell of sweet peppermint and fresh grass and something foresty and green that seems to originate not from some artificial perfume or soap but rather directly from Kurapika himself. It makes Leorio’s own cologne seem tacky and cheap in comparison.

The bus stops at an intersection to wait for a train to pass. People on the bus grumble over the deafening train whistle, complaining about the bus running late as usual, and although Leorio is definitely going to be late for his shift he can’t bring himself to care. He remembers the exact way Kurapika’s fingers closed around his wrist during one particularly nice moment last night and sighs happily. Outside on the grimy streets, people are scurrying about, buying heart-shaped balloons and bouquets of red roses that have already wilted in the cold, their crimson petals vivid against the pockets of white snow on the sidewalk.

Should he get Kurapika flowers? Would that be weird? He feels vaguely that Kurapika would make fun of him if he did, but when in Rome, right? And Leorio is so very much in Rome with Kurapika.

Somehow Leorio manages to drift into the hospital eighteen seconds before his shift starts. As he’s punching in his time card and daydreaming about where to take Kurapika for dinner that night, he sees the pediatric ward’s head surgeon approaching him. He’s a redheaded man in his early forties called Dr. DeLiotta, and he’s famous among the interns for being a total hard-ass. He doesn’t made mistakes and he never smiles; in fact, he’s glowering now. Leorio gulps.

“Morning, Paladiknight,” DeLiotta says brusquely.

“Morning, Doctor.”

“Got a sec?”

Leorio nods apprehensively, and DeLiotta takes him by the sleeve and pulls him away from the commotion of the nurses rushing back and forth with supply carts. They stand facing one another in a dimly lit hallway, and although Leorio is a good ten inches taller than the man, he suddenly feels rather small. He fixes his attention on a dying houseplant in the corner as DiLiotta puffs out his chest.

“Listen, Paladiknight. Your teachers might beat around the bush with you, but I need to know exactly what the hell happened yesterday with Tulani.”

“Ah,” Leorio says, “right.”

“It says on her chart that you never used a defibrillator or attempted CPR. Care to explain why?”

“I...can’t tell you that, Doctor.”

DeLiotta’s eyebrows disappear into his shock of red hair.

“Excuse me?!”

“I attempted to revive Tulani to the best of my ability, sir. I succeeded in re-starting her heart, but I was informed that there had been an error early on in her surgery. Shocking her or using CPR would have caused unnecessary trauma to her system.”

“So then what did you use?” DeLiotta spits. “Some kind of intern magic?”

Leorio takes a deep breath and decides that he might as well tell the truth.

“Er...Doctor DeLiotta, are you a Hunter?”

DeLiotta splutters with anger, his face turning as red as his bristly hair.

“What’s that have to do with anything?”

“Well,” Leorio continues, reaching into his breast pocket to take out his laminated Hunter license, “I am, and there are things that Hunters learn that we’re not allowed to share with the general public. It’s the law, actually. And you have to take my word for it that I did everything in my power to try to save that little girl.”

Leorio’s sweating, but he manages to keep his voice cool. DeLiotta gapes at his license for a moment before regaining his composure.

“Listen, kid, I don’t give a shit what the Hunter association thinks. Quite frankly I think you’re all a bunch of kooks. You work in my unit, you play by my rules. Until you can get that through your head, transfer somewhere else.”

“Yes, sir,” Leorio replies. He tucks his license back into his inner coat pocket, and DeLiotta glares at him, clearly expecting more of a fight.

“Where will you transfer to? You do know that you need these credits to graduate?”

“I’m thinking the pediatric hospice,” Leorio says. DeLiotta’s eyes widen.

“Paladiknight, you might be better suited somewhere less...”

“No,” Leorio replies firmly, “that’s where I want to go. I need to get used to it at some point, so it might as well be now. I’ll put in the transfer request now.”

Leorio strides away before DeLiotta can argue with him, and once he’s around the corner and out of sight, he lets the tension drop from his shoulders and exhales noisily. Things went about as well as they could have, but regardless, he’s on thin ice. He needs to be much more careful if he wants to stay in school.

 _No more Nen,_ he promises himself. _Not until you have your own practice. Way too dangerous._

He might as well get the transfer paperwork over with, so he stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts the long walk to the hospital’s administration department. It’s located in a musty office buried in the basement of the building. As he’s crossing the courtyard and turning up his collar against the chilly wind, he spots Flaviana in line for a coffee. She waves frantically, and he walks over to stand beside her as she waits.

“Hey!”

“Hi, Flaviana. How’d you do on the test yesterday?”

She grimaces.

“Eh. Not great. Usually Linda lets me study off of her notes, but I haven’t seen her in a few days, so I kind of blew it. You?”

“I’ll be surprised if they don’t kick me out.”

“Oh, well,” she says, smirking, “you had your mind on your friend, huh?”  
  
“No, no, I just should have studied more, but—wait, did you say you hadn’t seen Linda in a few days? Do you know where she is?”

Flaviana moves up in the line and orders a coffee before turning back to frown at him.

“Why?”

“Um,” Leorio begins, searching for something plausible, but as Flaviana grabs her cardboard coffee her face darkens.

“Ah! I know what you’re up to. You really shouldn’t!”

Leorio pauses for a beat, genuinely confused.

“You...you do?”

Flaviana swats him hard on the arm, and he jumps back, wincing.

“Hey! What’s that for?”

“Come on, Leorio. Don’t play dumb. Just because it’s Valentine’s Day you can’t be acting all jealous. Kurapika won’t like that, you know!”

Leorio plucks the coffee out of her hand and takes a long gulp.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I saw him talking to Linda at the bar the other night,” Flaviana huffs, grabbing her coffee back from him, “and listen, I know it was obvious he was interested in her, but you shouldn’t make a whole thing about it. Look, it’s not a big deal to flirt with somebody at a bar. Kurapika’s young. Let him have a little fun!”

Inwardly, Leorio sags with relief.

“Oh. Uh, I guess you’re right,” he says, hoisting a suitably chagrined expression onto his face, “maybe I shouldn’t...um...care so much about it.”

“Right,” Flaviana says, nodding sagely, “it’s not worth it. Trust me. I have good intuition for this kind of stuff.” She taps the side of her nose with a manicured finger. “Besides, Leorio, you’re a flirt too, you know!”

“Am I?” Leorio asks weakly, and Flaviana just laughs.

* * *

Later, as he’s leaving the administrative offices after an excruciatingly boring hour of paperwork, it occurs to Leorio that he feels oddly vindicated that Flaviana noticed Kurapika and Linda. It means that he was right to have worried; Kurapika’s not as clandestine as he thinks he is, and he needs someone looking out for him.

 _You just want to play the hero,_ whispers a snide voice. _He didn’t even want your help in the first place. He said so himself._

Leorio chews on a pen as he walks and promptly dismisses the thought, his stomach twisting with guilt.

* * *

 Unsurprisingly, Kurapika shows up three hours early, coming up behind Leorio as he’s hunched over a textbook in the courtyard and scaring the daylights out of him.

“Dammit, Kurapika, you gave me a heart attack,” Leorio grumbles, massaging his chest. “Stop _doing_ that.” He gathers up his books and shoves them back into his briefcase before standing up to face Kurapika, touching him lightly on the arm. “Are you feeling better?”

“Where’s the hospice unit in this hospital? Is it housed in the same complex?” Kurapika says by way of greeting, shivering in the cold. He’s looking a bit wild-eyed and frazzled, his gaze darting nervously around the courtyard.

“Yeah, it’s here. Actually, it’s where I’ll be working starting next Wednesday. Did you sleep more?”

“Can you take me there now?”

Leorio blinks. “Are you trying to find—”

“It’s just a hunch I have,” Kurapika replies softly. When he reaches up to push a lock of hair out of his face, Leorio hears the rattle of chains hidden inside of his coat sleeve.

Deliberating, Leorio bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t really want to spend the day playing detective; he’s got flowers to buy and dinner reservations to make and grieving parents to email and internships to salvage. But—

_He’s asking for your help, idiot._

Leorio sighs.

“All right. Follow me.”

They cross the courtyard and head into the main lobby, weaving between throngs of harried nurses and dazed visitors. Leorio reaches out to take Kurapika’s hand as they walk, but Kurapika drifts just out of reach, pausing to examine a map of the hospital tacked to a bulletin board.

The hospice ward is sequestered away on the seventh floor. Although it looks practically identical to the rest of the hospital, something up here feels fundamentally different. A strange musky smell permeates the air, and it’s so quiet that their footsteps echo against the floor with a hollow sound.

“What was the kid’s name again?” Leorio murmurs.

“Callisto. Cal,” Kurapika replies distantly. “Help me look for him.”

Feeling uneasy, Leorio walks behind Kurapika, pausing to read the names pasted on each closed door. Kurapika stops dead in his tracks in front of a room halfway down the hallway, and Leorio watches in apprehension as Kurapika shakes the chains out of his sleeve with a clatter and shuts his eyes.

“What are you—”

“Quiet,” Kurapika instructs, and Leorio falls silent.

Somewhere down the hall, a woman sobs raggedly. The hair on the back of Leorio’s neck stands up.

“Do you feel that?” Kurapika whispers. His eyes are glowing, a ring of blazing red noticeable even around his dark contacts.

“Uh—”

“Something is wrong here. Can’t you feel that aura? Something bad has happened here.”

“Well. If this kid is in hospice, he’s really, really sick, you know? This isn’t a cheerful place.”

“It’s not like that,” Kurapika says, staring unblinkingly at the door. “Use your Gyo.”

Obediently, Leorio focuses his aura into his eyes, squinting through the tingling sensation. When he trains his vision on the door again, he sees what Kurapika’s talking about: a smoky cloud of pitch-black aura leaking from behind the doorway. It’s thick and viscous, clinging to the doorframe like tar.

_Is that what death looks like?_

“I dunno,” Leorio mutters, releasing his Gyo. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. That poor kid,” he says, shaking his head, “and poor Linda. Geez.”

It comes out of his mouth before he’s fully realized what he’s saying, and when he sees Kurapika’s lips flatten into a thin line, he cringes and starts to backpedal.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean...I know she’s terrible, I just...you know. I feel bad for the kid, that’s all.”

Kurapika says nothing, just delicately wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead and looks at his feet. As they walk back to the lobby he stays five feet ahead of Leorio the entire way, but Leorio traipses doggedly after him, berating himself inwardly.

They reach the courtyard. Chattering students mill about them, and a light snow has started to fall, dusting the tiled rooftops like powdered sugar.

“Hey!” Leorio calls, loud enough that Kurapika pauses to look at him. “Hold on a minute!”

“What.”

“Do you...do you like Padokian food?”

“Why?”

“For dinner tonight. I need to make reservations,” Leorio says brightly, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call the restaurant now. It might be crowded.”

“Oh,” Kurapika says, looking puzzled. He hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Yes, that would be fine. What time?”

“Let’s say...8:15. Less crowded.”

“All right, then.”

“Great!” Leorio replies immediately, bouncing on the balls of his feet and smiling too widely. “Perfect! So...should we head home? How are you feeling? Are you hungry? Do you want a tour of the hospital? I can show you all of the places I’ve worked so far!”

“I have some things to attend to. I will meet you tonight for dinner,” Kurapika answers, his gaze tracking off to the side.

“What sort of things?”

“It’s better if you don’t know.”

“Why?” Leorio demands. “Tell me.”

“No. It’s safer if I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Leorio takes four deep breaths before he replies, struggling to keep his voice even.

“Okay.”

“I will see you at 8:15 tonight. Please send me the address once the reservation is confirmed.”

“Of course,” Leorio says quietly. “Be safe,” he adds, and for the first time all morning Kurapika flashes him a crooked half-smile in return.

* * *

After they part ways in the courtyard, Leorio drifts aimlessly around campus for an hour. He meanders to the library and tries to find more information on Salazari’s disease, but his thoughts are as scattered as dandelion fluff in the wind. After twenty minutes of staring at the same paragraph in a medical journal, he slams the book shut with an irritable snap and re-shelves it.

He spots Dr. Xavier’s squat figure walking into a lecture hall and briefly considers accosting him, but as he approaches, Leorio realizes that he can’t think of anything to say to him. He ducks into a study lounge to avoid the man, running his hands through his hair. Where would he even begin?

_Hey, Doc, I don’t know how I got myself into this mess, but by any chance are you involved in a weird death cult? Are you a ghoul who collects human body parts? Because that’s what I told this guy I just started sleeping with, and since it means a lot to him, and I’d really like to keep sleeping with him, it would be really convenient for me if you did. No? Great. Glad we had this talk._

“Aaaargh,” Leorio groans, leaning his forehead against a wall. Several students seated at a table nearby pause mid-conversation and look up at him in alarm, and he glowers at them. “What are you looking at?”

* * *

 Of course Kurapika isn’t at the apartment when Leorio gets back, and of course he doesn’t reply to the messages Leorio sends with the restaurant reservation. Nonetheless, Leorio is determined to do things right, so after changing out of his scrubs and downing a cup of cold coffee, he sets out towards the corner florist.

He’d had red roses in mind, but as he stands on the sidewalk perusing the bouquets packed into the small kiosk, he feels a little sickened by the sight of the brilliant crimson petals spilling over the thorny branches. A search on his phone for “Kurta clan flowers traditional love” brings up two hits: a recipe for something called “Spooky Halloween Kurta Eyes” that involves grapes and jello and a lot of red food coloring (he quickly flags the website as junk and closes the tab, nauseated), and a news report from seven years ago, detailing the events of the Kurta massacre.

Instead he decides on bright yellow sunflowers, simply because the color reminds him of Kurapika’s hair. He selects three hearty contenders and goes inside to pay, grasping the large flowers by their fuzzy stalks.

The air is growing bitterly cold as he returns to his apartment. The snow has turned to dreary sleet again, coating everything with a crackly layer of ice. It’s the kind of bleak midwinter day where evening arrives around lunchtime, draining the light out of everything and turning the world to grayscale.

Leorio crams the sunflowers into a wine bottle filled with water before settling behind his desk with a binder of pharmacology notes and a fresh cup of coffee. From here, he can see Kurapika’s suitcase through the cracked bedroom door, and he glances up at it from time to time while he studies through the endless afternoon.

Two hours before dinner, Leorio takes a scrupulous shower and shaves every inch of himself that needs shaving. He slaps on stinging aftershave and stands before his closet to survey his clothing. It takes him twenty minutes to decide on a blue suit paired with a purple silk tie, and after fussing with the knot of his tie for another five minutes he decides that what he really needs is a drink. He takes a sizable gulp of whiskey from the emergency bottle stashed in the pot of his dying ficus plant, and as the alcohol burns down his throat he makes a mental note to water the poor thing more. Once he’s gathered up his keys, wallet, a battered umbrella, and the sunflowers, he heads out into the blustery night.

Leorio arrives at the restaurant at 7:45 and asks for a table in the back, far away from the windows. It’s a nice restaurant with white tablecloths and candles and the rest of it, perhaps a little old-fashioned but definitely the right kind of place for a first date. He orders a bottle of red wine and two glasses and tries to stop his eyes from flickering towards the doorway every ten seconds. The tables around him are filling quickly with couples, all holding hands and gazing in each other’s eyes and exchanging gifts.

He drums his fingers on the table and checks his watch: it’s 8:01. No need to be worried yet. He fidgets with the sunflowers and drinks half a glass of wine, feeling a wash of heat creep up around his tight collar.

At 8:15, Leorio stands up and places a napkin over his wineglass. He walks to the front of the restaurant and peers through the fogged-up glass, but Kurapika is nowhere to be found. Just in case, he activates his En, but everyone around him feels nondescript and bland. He notices none of the prickling, itching heat of Kurapika’s aura. Growing impatient, he returns to his seat and drains his wineglass.

The waiter circles back around at 8:37 to ask if he can remove the second menu, and Leorio snatches it out of reach.

“No,” he says fervently, “I need both. I’m waiting on someone. I’m not here alone!”

The waiter bows deeply and drops the leather bound menu back onto the table.

“Naturally. My apologies, sir.”

By 8:49, Leorio decides that if Kurapika isn’t here by 9:15, he will...well, he’ll keep waiting, is what he’ll do. He rests his head in his hands and loosens his tie.

People around him who have eaten entire meals since he arrived are starting to pay their bills and leave, arm in arm and cooing at each other. A blonde woman sitting to his left shrieks after fishing a soggy diamond ring out of her strawberry shortcake, and when she jams it onto the appropriate finger, icing and all, a great cheer erupts throughout the restaurant. The dopey-looking guy across from her gets down on one knee, and after a brief exchange of words they share a cinematic kiss. The waiters applaud and bring out a bottle of champagne. Leorio watches sourly and picks at a dinner roll.

In the commotion Leorio must miss Kurapika coming inside, so when he appears in front of the table, red-cheeked and smiling faintly, Leorio is so startled that he knocks an empty wineglass onto the floor. It shatters noisily, and Kurapika steps neatly around it to embrace Leorio. A waiter rushes forward with a dustpan to sweep it away.

“Where have you _been_?” Leorio scolds into Kurapika’s hair, although he’s so pleased by Kurapika’s hug that he can’t stay angry for longer than a second. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” He squeezes Kurapika tightly around the shoulders, pressing him against his chest and breathing in his minty smell. “I was worried about you!”

“I’m very sorry,” Kurapika says breathlessly as Leorio releases him and they take their seats. “I lost track of time.”

“Clearly,” Leorio says, but he’s flushing all over at the sight of Kurapika shrugging off his coat and wiping snow out of his eyelashes. “You look like you’re feeling a lot better, though.”

“I am,” Kurapika says calmly, pouring himself a glass of wine and taking a cautious sip. “I used my Healing Chain.”

Leorio frowns. “Is that good for you, to use it so much?”

“It’s fine. Have you already eaten?”

“Of course not. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Ah. I apologize.”

They each open their heavy menus and read silently for a minute. Leorio has the whole thing memorized by this point, but he waits for Kurapika to finish perusing the pages, his mouth moving silently, to set his own menu aside and beckon towards a passing waiter. Kurapika asks for some complicated fish-based entree, and Leorio orders a Padokian steak. When the waiter whisks their menus away, Leorio finishes his wine and points at the sunflowers.

“These are for you,” he says, smiling. “I hope you like sunflowers.”

Kurapika blushes to the roots of his hair.

“Oh. Thank you. I do like them.” He touches a bristly stem tentatively. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to get them for you.”

Emboldened by the wine, Leorio reaches across the table to take Kurapika’s small hand.

“Kurapika, I...” he starts, his heart racing. “I know everything is so strange right now, but still...I was so happy last night. I’ve...I’ve thought about that for such a long time, and I...I don’t know, but...did it make you happy, too?”

“Yes,” Kurapika says simply. Leorio waits for him to elaborate, but Kurapika merely watches him, a faint crease appearing between his blonde eyebrows.

“Really? You’ve thought about it before now, too?”

“Of course I have. Subtlety has never been your strong suit.”

Leorio laughs, embarrassed.

“Well, yeah. I always liked you. Ever since the exam. Obviously. But I guess what I mean is...are you all right with this? Are you happy? Because, Kurapika, I’ve been thinking,” he continues in a rush, stroking Kurapika’s palm with his thumb, “if you don’t like working for the Nostrade family anymore, you could always come live with me, you know, you don’t have to pay rent or anything, you could just live here, and—”

“Leorio,” Kurapika interrupts, his eyes shining. “I need your help.”

“Yeah. Anything. What is it?”

“I need you to take Callisto away, and tell Linda that you have him.”

At that moment their waiter reappears, his arms laden with trays of steaming food, and they wait in silence as the waiter places their plates in front of them and backs away with an elaborate bow. Leorio’s heart drops into his stomach.

“Uh.”

“She’s my only link to the Immortals. If I can’t get in contact with her, I could lose the lead. Please, Leorio.”

Bile is rising up at the back of Leorio’s throat, and he swallows hard.

“He’s a child, Kurapika. A child.”

“I just need you to take him and hide him somewhere,” Kurapika says hurriedly, pulling his hand away and and balling up the napkin in his fists. “You’re a doctor. You’ll probably take better care of him than the hospital staff. You know what you’re doing. Leorio, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“This isn’t—this isn’t you.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Kurapika I know would never put a child in danger.”

 _But that’s not true,_ hisses the nasty voice in his mind again. _Remember York Shin? Remember when Gon and Killua were taken hostage by the Spiders? Just how worried was Kurapika then? He’ll do anything to get revenge._

“Leorio, it’s not like that,” Kurapika says imploringly, holding up a hand. “I don’t—I’m not asking you to hurt him, or to do anything cruel. I just need you to take him somewhere and tell Linda you have him, and that if she contacts me the whole thing will be over. That’s all.”

“Right,” Leorio retorts, hearing a hysterical edge creep into his own voice, “that’s all, I just have to kidnap a dying kid and blackmail his mom so you can sneak into a dangerous cult! That’s all, is it? No problem, man, sign me right up!” He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “No big deal!”

“Keep your voice down,” Kurapika shoots back, his gaze darting around nervously. “Leorio, please.”

“No. I can’t do this. Kurapika. You don’t even know if Yakeesh—Yakutia—what’s his name?—if he even has the eyes. Come on. This is insane.”

“He does have them.”

“How do you know?”

“My dowsing chain is never wrong,” Kurapika says fiercely. “Yakushin has them. I’m sure of it.”

Leorio drags a hand over his face.

“You can’t keep this up. This isn’t you. The person I know would never—” he gestures helplessly at Kurapika, his chest heaving, “never threaten anyone like this, or act this way. Pika...”

Kurapika’s phone rings from his coat pocket. He answers immediately, his eyes still fixed on Leorio’s face.

“Hello?”

Leorio can’t hear the voice on the other line, and he watches Kurapika’s expression turn stony.

“Yes. Yes. All right. I understand. I’ll be ready in,” Kurapika says, peering over at Leorio’s watch, “seven minutes.”

He hangs up and looks back at Leorio, taking a shaky breath.

“That was Senritsu. I have to go.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No, I...” Kurapika trails off, and he’s finally looking as upset as Leorio feels. “I have to go back to the Nostrade estate. Neon ran off again. Light Nostrade is panicking. It shouldn’t take longer than a day to rectify the situation, but...”

“What? Aren’t you taking a break?”

“It can’t be helped,” Kurapika says unhappily, already getting to his feet and putting on his coat. “They’re sending a cab for me now.”

Leorio pushes back his own chair with a screech. He jogs to keep up with Kurapika as he weaves through the tables, ignoring the stares of the couples around them. When they reach the sidewalk and Kurapika cranes his neck to look for the cab through the sleet, Leorio rounds on him desperately and takes his face in both hands before leaning down and kissing him hard. It’s a clumsy, rushed kiss, and their teeth and tongues collide painfully.

“Don’t go. Stay here,” Leorio breathes when they break apart, clutching the hair at the nape of Kurapika’s neck. He kisses him again, more gently this time, and Kurapika closes his eyes and shudders before pulling away. “Forget this whole thing. Come home with me.”

Leorio’s voice breaks on the last syllable. He blinks back angry tears as a sleek black sedan cruises up beside them on the curb, and Kurapika opens the door and slides into the seat.

“This should only take a day or two. Please, Leorio. You’re the only one who can help me.”

He closes the door, and the car drives away with a splatter of icy slush. Leorio stuffs a fist into his mouth to keep from crying out as the taillights disappear into the frigid night.

* * *

At 3:12 in the morning, the door opens noiselessly. Machines bleep and murmur in the darkness, and a ventilator hums steadily in the corner. Slowly, slowly, a man approaches the bedside, leaning down to check the vital signs of the bed’s small inhabitant. The man jots something down in a notebook before laying his hands on the IV bag hooked up to a stand. The contents of the bag flow through a transparent wire into the patient’s wrist. Whispering to himself, the man closes his eyes and transmits a steady flow of aura into the IV bag until its liquid contents begin to curdle and sizzle, darkening to a sickly olive green. The small patient twitches slightly. After another moment of silent incantations, the liquid in the bag returns to its original clear state. The man creeps soundlessly out of the room again and closes the door handle with a snow-white handkerchief.

Leorio sees everything from his hiding spot in the supply closet, his eyes widening with shock.


	10. february 15th, part one

**2:42 am, 3,081 feet above York Shin**

On the airship, Kurapika ducks into the bathroom and bolts the door behind him. His white shirt is drenched in clammy sweat. He loosens his stifling tie with trembling hands and splashes cold water on his face, avoiding his own haggard reflection in the mirror.

The realization of what he has asked Leorio to do hits him like a blunt force. Catching himself on the ceramic edge of the sink, he’s suddenly wracked with nausea.

 _It has to be done_ , Kurapika reminds himself desperately as he breathes hard through his nose. _This is the only way. I have to bluff._

Callisto isn’t safe in the hospital; this much is clear. The malicious aura coming from the hospice room is evidence of foul play, and whether it’s the work of the Immortals or some other force Kurapika isn’t sure, but something is very wrong. As it stands, Leorio is the only person who can guarantee Callisto’s safety. Leorio is good and honest and kind; he will be disgusted enough with the idea of Kurapika’s callousness that he will take Callisto somewhere far away from the Immortals and Yakushin and the deadly Nen in the hospital. In turn, Leorio, too, will be safe.

The plan will work, it must work, because Leorio and Callisto cannot become innocent casualties of this situation. Kurapika will not allow it. He will retrieve the Scarlet Eyes and face the Immortals alone.

_Oh, God._

Kurapika remembers the horrified expression on Leorio’s face and feels another lurch of searing guilt. He gags and spits a mouthful of sour bile into the sink. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he kneels down and pulls out the crumpled map taken from Leorio’s kitchen drawer. He spreads it flat across the tiled floor. Summoning the last vestiges of his Nen, he materializes his dowsing chain and holds his shaking hand over the map.

_Show me the eyes of my brethren. Show me Yakushin._

His eyes burn. The chain goes taut, pointing north at the same island from before. Yakushin hasn’t moved.

Kurapika gets to his feet and walks unsteadily back to his seat, pocketing the map once more.  
As the airship descends, the glittering sprawl of York Shin emerges from beneath a thick layer of cloud cover. The lights of retreating cars on the freeway shine red through the misty night air. Feeling a wave of vertigo, he looks away from the window and taps out a message to Leorio on his cell phone.

_I trust that you will understand what to do from here. Please look after Callisto._

He sends the message and exhales in a hiss.

 _Forgive me, Leorio,_ he types, and he stares down at his glowing phone screen for a moment before erasing it.

* * *

**5:35 am, Linda Miyaki’s apartment**

Linda’s day begins the same way that it usually does.

She wakes up to the shrieking of her alarm. She rolls over in her twin bed and hits snooze. Rubbing her puffy eyes and yawning, she fumbles for her cell phone on her bedside table and checks her messages. She reads two emoji-filled drunk texts from Flaviana, chuckling, but her heart sinks when she sees an overdraft notice from her bank typed in threatening red text. 

_Damn. Another one._

Groaning, she heaves herself out of bed and pads into the bathroom. The tiled floor is freezing underneath her bare feet. She suspects that her heat was turned off during the night. Her landlord has been lenient about delayed utility bills in the past, but she might be out of luck this time.

As she brushes her teeth, she swipes through photos of Callisto on her phone. She pauses on a photo taken on his fifth birthday. He’s in his hospital bed and pointing up at a shiny green balloon, grinning from behind an oxygen mask. A speck of toothpaste lands on the screen, and she wipes it away with her bathrobe sleeve. Her chin trembles.

At 6:07 am, Linda buttons up her threadbare wool coat and steps outside. The sun is rising through an orange haze, and her breath fogs in the cold air. She walks briskly towards campus and runs through a mental checklist of tasks for the day. There’s a cardiology lecture at 8, an anatomy lab from 11 to 2, and Dr. Xavier’s ophthalmology class from 3:30 to 6. She chews the inside of her lip, calculating. If she catches the 2:15 shuttle, she could squeeze in a visit with Cal.

Her phone rings in her pocket, startling her out of her reverie. She pauses on the sidewalk and glances at the screen. It’s Yakushin. She lifts the receiver to her ear slowly.

“Hello, Linda. Do you have a moment to speak, my darling?”

Yakushin’s reedy voice is gentle. A cold wash of adrenaline hits Linda’s bloodstream.

“Yes, Honored One. What is it?”

“Sweetheart, we’ve been over this before. I didn’t want to bring it up again, but here we are.”

“Bring it...up again?” Linda says, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Um...”

“We collect the membership fees on the 14th every month, Linda. Every month. It’s been this way for years. Surely you know this by now. And yet this morning we find that your account is empty. We can’t have this.”

“I know,” she replies quickly, lowering her voice and ducking into an alleyway. “I know. I’m sorry. I just—I need another week. I apologize.”

“Linda, Linda, Linda,” Yakushin sighs. “Whatever will we do with you?”

Linda says nothing, kicking at a mound of dirty ice in the gutter.

“Thanks to your contribution, the elixir is almost ready, you know.”

“Really?” Linda asks, her pulse increasing. “It’s...it’s done?”

“Oh yes. And thanks to you, we’ve managed to assemble all of the ingredients for the first time. Our first complete batch...and the addition of the Scarlet Eyes will ensure our success. Ah, if only we had finished it in time for poor Gregor.”

Linda grits her teeth at the mention of her dead husband, but her voice is level when she speaks. Tears and hysterics are useless against Yakushin.

“When will we convene? The messenger hasn’t come for me yet.”

“No,” Yakushin chuckles, “no, they haven’t, have they? And they won’t tell you the meeting place and time, my sugar plum, until you pay your dues. You know how I feel about you, but I can’t be playing favorites, now can I? We have to play fair.”

“Yakushin. Please. I promise I can have it by—by next week. By tomorrow. Just give me another chance. Callisto...doesn’t have long.”

“I know,” Yakushin sighs, sounding truly sorry. “It hurts me too, my darling. But there’s an easy solution.”

 _Fuck you,_ Linda thinks, balling up her fists. _Fuck you too, Greg. For getting me into this stupid mess. Why couldn’t you just die? It wasn’t enough to run out on me and Cal, first you had to get us millions of Jenny into debt with these creeps. Fuck you._

But if the elixir works and Cal is saved, it doesn’t matter. None of this matters. She closes her eyes. 

“I’ll have the money before the end of the day.”

“Then we’re on the same page,” Yakushin says sweetly. “Goodbye for now, then, dear one.”

The line goes dead. Linda stands frozen in the alleyway, furious tears rolling down her cheeks.

* * *

**7:28 am, Nostrade Estate**

“Hello, Kurapika.”

Kurapika turns to see Senritsu walking up behind him in the shadowy hallway. He slows her pace to match hers, and they fall into step together as they head towards Light Nostrade’s office.

“Senritsu. Are you well?”

“What’s the matter?” Senritsu asks softly, her wide eyes searching Kurapika’s face. “Something is upsetting you. Did something happen with Leorio?”

“It’s nothing,” Kurapika replies, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “The usual.”

They pause in front of Nostrade’s office door. Senritsu cocks her head towards Kurapika’s chest. She closes her eyes and raises a delicate finger, tracing something invisible in the air between them.

“You’re hiding something.”

It’s pointless to lie to Senritsu when she can hear every flutter of his nervous heartbeat. Kurapika says nothing as he stretches out his fist to knock on the heavy wooden door.

“Is there anything I can do to help you, Kurapika?”

“No. Thank you for your concern.”

Kurapika raps on the door twice. Nostrade’s flushed red face appears in the crack of the door immediately. He’s pale and disheveled, reeking of cigar smoke and alcohol.

“Oh thank God you’re here. Come in at once.”

Kurapika and Senritsu follow Nostrade into his dimly lit office. Nostrade begins to pace back and forth on the plush burgundy carpet, tugging at handfuls of his hair and clenching his jaw.

“Linssen and Basho have searched for Neon for two hours already and can’t find her anywhere,” Nostrade moans. “I’ve had it up to here with her! I’ve had enough! Nobody can imagine the trouble she puts me through!”

“Where was she last spotted?” Kurapika asks, but Nostrade sinks into a leather-backed chair and takes an anguished swig of bourbon from a crystal decanter. Repressing the urge to roll his eyes at the man’s theatrics, Kurapika looks to Senritsu instead.

“They were leaving the hotel for dinner around 6 tonight and she slipped away somehow,” she murmurs. “The entire resort is on lockdown and the airports are being watched. If you’re up to it, Kurapika, it would be quickest if...” Senritsu trails off and gives him a meaningful glance. Their boss gnashes his teeth and lights a foul-smelling cigar.

Kurapika grimaces and waves away a cloud of smoke. He’s not sure if he has enough Nen to use his dowsing chain, but the idea of physically tracking down Neon is unappealing. More importantly, the Immortals could be meeting at any time. There isn’t a moment to waste. He sighs and gestures towards Nostrade’s slumped form.

“Can you deal with this? Sorry,” Kurapika whispers, and Senritsu winks and nods.

“Thanks,” he mouths, and turns to go.

* * *

**8:17 am, Internal Medicine Research Department**

Linda’s dozing off in a cardiology lecture when her phone rings again, startling the tired students around her with its shrill ringtone. Muttering an apology, she hurries out of the classroom and ducks into the hallway before pulling the phone out of her pocket. It’s a number she doesn’t recognize, and she’s briefly paralyzed with indecision before squeezing her eyes shut and holding the phone to her ear.

“Yes?”

“Is this Linda? Do you have a minute?”

The speaker sounds like a young man. He’s breathing hard into the phone, like he’s been sprinting or maybe doing something else that Linda doesn’t want to think about. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Yes?” Linda replies cautiously. “Who is this?”

“Linda. Thank goodness. I need you to come to my apartment as quick as you can.”

“What? Who are you?”

There’s a scuffling noise in the background, and the speaker calls out something indecipherable before speaking again.

“It’s Leorio Paladiknight. I’m in your anatomy lecture.”  
  
Linda pauses, tugging on a loose strand of hair.

“Uh...”

“I’m friends with Flaviana. I was at the conference last week when you were on Xavier’s panel, remember?”

Linda does not.

“Sorry, uh, Rioleo, I have no clue who you are.” She narrows her eyes. “Wait. Do you know that Kurapika guy? You’re his friend, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s not important right now. Listen, I have Callisto here with me. He’s totally fine, and he’s gonna be fine, but you need to come to my place right now.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“He’s right here,” Leorio says breathlessly. “I’ll explain everything. I live at 49 Zagrevvio Place. It’s a twenty minute walk from school.”

“Fuck you. Did Yakushin put you up to this? What kind of sick joke is this? I’ll have the money by tonight, okay? I already talked to him!” Linda hisses, her eyes blurring with tears. “Don’t bring Cal into this!”

“It’s not a joke. I promise. They’re poisoning him, Linda, do you know what Nen is? Someone is using it on Callisto to make him sick. I had to get him out of the hospital!”

Her heart stops for a minute before restarting with a painful lurch.

“What...?”

“Hurry. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going, and when you get to the—”

She hangs up before he can finish talking and runs down the hallway. Her heels clatter against the tile floor. Clumps of students scatter in alarm as she pelts through them, knocking against someone’s armful of textbooks with a painful thud. By the time she’s reached the snowy courtyard, her lungs are burning in the cold air and her feet sting with fresh blisters. Kicking off her heels, she launches into a wheezing sprint, her bare feet numb and frozen against the icy cobblestones.

* * *

**8:29 am, Nostrade Estate**

An irate Neon is dragged home kicking and spitting two hours later. It was easy enough for Kurapika to locate her; all he had to do was find a map of the most expensive clothing boutiques in a hundred-mile radius. The girl managed to buy two million Jennys’ worth of rare Kiriko fur coats before Basho and Linssen caught up to her. Judging from the volume of the screams coming through her bedroom walls, Light Nostrade is having a hard time convincing her to part with her new purchases.

Kurapika slinks away from Senritsu’s watchful gaze the moment that Nostrade dismisses the bodyguards. He feels her eyes on his back as he returns to his bedroom and locks the door, but she makes no attempt to follow him.

He’s shivering and queasy as he collapses facedown onto his bed, breathing in the harsh chemical smell of the industrial-grade laundry detergent. He hasn’t slept in this bed in weeks. Rolling onto his side, he hugs his knees into his chest and gazes around the small bedroom. His black suits hang neatly in the closet; someone had them dry cleaned and ironed in his absence. His toothbrush sits on the dresser next to a spare phone charger. Other than that, the room is devoid of any personal touches. What’s the point? This place is not his home.

Every muscle in his body aches with fatigue, but he knows that sleep will be impossible. He wipes his clammy forehead with his sleeve and rises from the bed.

* * *

It takes Kurapika’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. He fumbles for a book of matches in his pocket and lights one, breathing in the scent of sulphur as the room is bathed in a soft orange glow. He moves quickly, lighting the clusters of half-melted candles until the match singes his fingers. Hissing in pain, he extinguishes it with a flick of his wrist and tosses it aside.

There’s an overturned wooden crate in the middle of the room. Kurapika takes a seat and bows his head, his mouth moving soundlessly.

_I shall share my happiness and sadness with all my brethren. I shall sing eternal praise to the people of Kurta. On the Scarlet Eyes, I swear this._

It’s only when the prayer is complete that Kurapika allows himself to look at the table in front of him. Three large glass jars are nestled between a garland of wilted white lilies. The candles flicker and sputter, sending up small puffs of smoke and dripping melted wax onto the dirty floor. Inside the jars, three pairs of bloodied eyeballs hang suspended in their baths of clear liquid, their irises as vibrant and jewel-bright as rubies.

It doesn’t knock the wind out of him to see the jars anymore. Not like how it did when Neon got the first pair in York Shin. The dazzling agony of that first exposure has been replaced by a constant dull ache. These days he can look at the eyes without flinching; sometimes he even lays a tentative hand against the glass, wondering if they belonged to Pairo or his mom or dad or one of the elders. He’s not sure if knowing would make it better or worse.

His phone is clasped loosely in his hands, and it buzzes against his palm. He glances down; it’s Leorio. He lets it go to voicemail, and when the screen goes dark he hurriedly unlocks the screen and plays Leorio’s message on speaker.

“Hey. Kurapika. Please pick up. Don’t do what you always do and let this go to voicemail. I know you’re listening.”

Guilty as charged. Kurapika smiles in spite of himself.

“So did you already know about the Nen poison thing? I don’t understand. You knew, right? You wanted me to save him, didn’t you? Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

There’s a long pause. Kurapika swallows hard, staring at a glob of wax on the floor.

“I don’t understand what’s happening with you. I just want to help you. Kurapika, I—I know you’re up to something. Don’t block me out. Let me help you.”

Leorio sounds like he has a bad cold. He takes a shuddering breath before continuing, and Kurapika realizes with a jolt of fear that Leorio is crying.

“You’re killing yourself with this. I wish you’d stop, but damn it, I’ll help you every step of the way. If you’re trying to make me hate you, it won’t work, you idiot. Don’t do this. I love y—”

Kurapika silences the phone abruptly.

* * *

**8:58 am, Leorio’s apartment**

Leorio is beginning to worry that he might have an actual heart attack soon. His heart has been palpitating all morning (night? Day? Week? Sleep feels like a distant memory), and his navy suit is soaked through with cold sweat. He’s hurtling around the apartment, organizing stolen medical supplies and checking on Callisto every five minutes when Linda bursts through his front door, barefoot and hysterical.

“Where is he?” Linda pants, staring around wild-eyed. “Where’s Cal?”

“In there,” Leorio says, pointing with his chin towards the bedroom. He’s clutching an armful of IV bags and saline solution. Linda shoves past him without a word, and he hears her emit an ear-splitting shriek when she reaches the bedroom.

Leorio is so tired and over-emotional at this point that he doesn’t even try to hide his own tears. He sniffles as he stands in the doorway and watches Linda embrace Callisto. The boy giggles as she showers his small face with kisses.

“Mom, cut it out!” Callisto whines. He pushes his mother away, and she collapses into sobs and clutches his tiny body to to her chest. Wriggling out of her embrace, he regards Leorio with a vivid green stare. He reminds Leorio of a baby sparrow, twitchy and bright-eyed with his rumply rust-colored hair sticking up in every direction like feathers. “Hey, Mister. I’m hungry. Do you have snacks here?”

“You gotta take it easy for a day or two before you eat anything,” Leorio tells him, and Cal’s face falls. “But then you can eat whatever you want, I promise.” He attaches a new saline drip to Cal’s IV line, hanging the bag of milky liquid off of his bedpost before stepping back and wiping his brow.

Callisto isn’t out of the woods yet. He’s dangerously thin, and his pale skin is riddled with painful-looking lesions. Detoxing from poison is a rough process, too. Lot of barfing involved. But good barfing; _cathartic_ barfing, Leorio muses. After a few weeks of hydration and good food, Callisto will improve steadily. In the next thought he thinks about Kurapika, and his eyes fill with tears once more.

“Is Dad gonna visit?” Callisto chirps. Linda smiles vaguely and strokes his hair, not meeting his hopeful gaze.

“Maybe another time, baby.”

Leorio allows them four more minutes of catching up before launching back into action. He zips up a duffel bag of medical supplies and places it by the door. The sight of Kurapika’s suitcase in the bedroom makes his stomach drop into his feet, but he grits his teeth and digs around in the neatly folded clothing until he finds a pair of Kurapika’s shiny work shoes, which he tosses to Linda.

“Here. They might be big, but at least you won’t be barefoot.”

Linda glances at the shoes in bemusement.

“Hm?”

“We gotta get moving.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t stay here. The hospital knows where I live. I kind of just stole your kid, after all. They’re gonna want to do something about it pretty soon. Some friends of mine are coming to pick you up. They’re taking you somewhere safe.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“Whale Island. Don’t worry. It’s gonna be fine. Cal will love it there.”

“Whale—wait a minute—Rioleo, I want to take Cal home!”

“You can’t. They know where you live, too. The hospital has records of all of that stuff. Trust me.”

Linda looks between Leorio and Callisto several times, blinking and twisting her hands together. She takes a deep breath.

“Okay. If...if you’re sure.”

She shoves her feet into Kurapika’s shoes and tightens the laces.

“Will Cal be all right in a car?”

Leorio grins.

“Tch. You won’t be taking a car.”

“What? An airship? Really?”

“Nope! You’ll see. Come on, we gotta go out to the roof. They’ll be here in a minute. Here, you take this bag, and I’ll take Cal.”

Linda frowns, but she leans down to pick up the heavy duffel bag. Leorio turns to Cal and hoists a wide smile onto his face.

“Okay, buddy, you ready for an adventure?”

“Yeah!” Cal rasps, flapping his hands around in excitement. “Wheeee!”

Leorio lifts his frail body gently, taking care not to jostle the IV bag as he slings it over his shoulder. Linda drags the duffel bag and follows him out of the apartment into the dark stairwell.

“Okay. Up three flights and take a left. We’re goin’ up to the rooftop.”

They clamber up the stairs. Cal sings a cheerful nonsense song to himself under his breath, and when they reach the rooftop he squints at the bright sunlight breaking through the fog. A salty breeze is blowing, whipping Linda’s dark hair around her face and making Leorio’s eyes water.

“You need some Vitamin D,” Leorio tells him. “Soak it up, my man!”

Linda reaches over to cup Cal’s cheek, her fingers lingering on a scabby wound.

“How did you know? How did you figure it out? That he’s not really sick? How come all the other doctors were fooled?”

Leorio shades his eyes with a hand and squints into the horizon. Nothing yet.

“Linda, do you know what Nen is?”

She shakes her head, her brow furrowing.

“Uh. It’s kinda...too long to explain right now. You can ask my friends to tell you about it on the ride. I don’t know all the details myself, but I think that the Immortals have been extorting you for years by holding Cal hostage.”

“How the hell did you figure this out?”

Leorio rubs the back of his neck and looks away, scanning the skies.

“Well. I didn’t. My, uh, my friend did.”

“The Kurta guy? Kurapika?”

“Yep.”

“But he just wants the eyes back.”

“Right.”

“Did he put you up to this?”

“Kind of. It’s...complicated.”

Linda looks lost in thought for a moment, fidgeting with the strap of the duffel bag. The wind stirs up an eddy of dead leaves on the rooftop. 

“I’m bored,” Callisto announces, kicking Leorio in the stomach.

“Ouch! Cut it out! And look, your ride’s here,” Leorio grumbles, pointing towards the sun. Linda and Callisto follow his gaze.

“LEORIOOOOOOOOO!”

A deafening yell echoes across the street as a miniature hot air balloon floats into view. In the basket, the figures of two messy-haired boys are backlit by the blazing morning sun. Linda gasps and leaps back as the balloon skids onto the rooftop, its small propeller whirring noisily. A flock of frightened starlings takes flight in a flurry of dust as the two boys tumble out of the balloon’s basket. 

“What’s this all about, old man?” Killua groans when he sees Leorio. “What’d you do to that kid? So much for being a doctor, huh?”

“Good to see you too, Killua,” Leorio calls as Gon bounds up to Leorio. His tanned face stretches into a megawatt smile as he starts to babble. Killua skulks behind him, hands in his pockets. Both boys have grown about a foot since Leorio saw them last.

“Leorio! We missed you so much! Killua even wanted to see you, actually, even though we’ve been having so much fun with Kite, Killua still let us go get his brother’s hot air balloon from his house—oh, do you know about Kite? Maybe not! He’s my friend, well, he’s my dad’s friend, but anyway—are you a doctor yet? Who are these people? Where’s Kurapika? I didn’t tell Mito-San that these people are coming yet but she’s really good at doctor stuff too so it should be—”

“Gon,” Leorio interrupts. “We don’t have a lot of time. I need you to take them to your house. Bad people will be looking for them very soon. They’re not safe here, and Callisto is still sick. Can you do that?”

Gon nods fiercely.

“Of course! Killua and me can handle it.”

Linda watches the interaction in stunned silence. She turns to Leorio, incredulous.

“I don’t get it. These are...just kids.”

“I know,” Leorio agrees, “but one of them’s a trained assassin and the other can punch a hole in a wall. They could both probably kill me in a heartbeat. I promise you’ll be okay with them. Come on. You should go.”

He deposits Callisto carefully into her outstretched arms and heaves the duffel bag into the basket. Linda climbs aboard and sits on the floor, settling Cal into her lap. He yawns and closes his eyes as his head rolls against her chest.

“When that IV bag runs out, start another one. As long as you follow the instructions I wrote for you, he should be okay. If anything happens, give me a call. He’ll probably sleep for a while now,” Leorio tells Linda as Gon and Killua adjust the balloon’s ropes. “Tell me when you get there, yeah? Now get out of here.”

“Roger!” Gon cries. Killua raises a hand in farewell, and the balloon starts to lift off.

“Wait,” Linda calls over the noise of the wind and the propeller, “hold on, wait, Leorio!”

“What?!”

“It’s taking off, lady, we can’t make it stall for too long!” Killua yells, yanking on a rope to make the balloon hover in midair. “Make it quick!”

“Kurapika can take my place at the meeting!”

“Huh?”

“The meeting! Everyone wears masks! I’ll figure out how to pay my membership fee so Yakushin tells me when the meeting is. He can go!”

“Uh! Okay! All right!” Leorio shouts back. “I’ll tell him! You should go, though!”

“Bye, Leoriooooooo!”

“Bye, Gon! Bye, Killua! Thanks, boys!”

Killua cranks the propellor, and the balloon rockets upwards. Leorio waves furiously until the balloon and its passengers are only a black speck against the blue sky. Once it’s out of sight, he falls to his knees into an icy puddle and buries his face in his hands.

* * *

**10:24 am, Nostrade Estate**

Kurapika’s slumped in the corner of the basement, groggy and half-asleep, when the phone rings again. It’s Linda. He jerks awake with a thrill of nerves and answers the call.

“Kurapika speaking.”

“Hey. Kurapika. It’s, uh, it’s Linda. Linda Miyaki.”

There’s a rush of static on her end, like she’s somewhere extremely windy. He cups a hand around the receiver to hear her more clearly.

“Yes?”

“I got the call.”

“The call. For the meeting?”

“Yeah. It’s tonight. If you wanna take my place, you can. I won’t be going.”

He closes his eyes, overwhelmed. The flickering candlelight paints weird blobs of muted red light against his eyelids, shifting and mutating like a kaleidoscope.

“Yes, I do. What do I need to do to gain entry?”

“I’ll send you an email with all the instructions. We wear masks, but you’ll need to dress like me. My apartment’s unlocked. You can borrow my clothes.”

“All right. Thank you, Linda. It appears I misjudged you.”

She says something that’s lost to the wind and the static on her end of the line.

“Pardon?”

“I said, good luck. You’ll need it. These are bad people. I’m sorry I gave those eyes to Yakushin. I hope you get ‘em back.”

“So do I. Thank you for your assistance. And,” he says, hesitating, “is Callisto all right?”

“Yeah. He’s gonna be okay. Your friend is a good man.”

 _He is._ Kurapika sags with relief, covering his face with his free hand. 

“I’m glad. Have him take you somewhere far from here.”

“Oh, Leorio’s not with me. I’m with these kids now. Uh. Gene...? And Killer? Is it like, their nicknames or something? I’m not sure. Anyways, we’re—”

“What?” Kurapika says, sitting up in alarm. “Leorio’s not going with you?” He thinks over what she said for a moment, frowning. “Wait. Gon? And Killua?!”

“No, he stayed back—”

Kurapika leaps to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness. A familiar prickle of heat starts to pulse behind his eyeballs.

“I have to go. Goodbye.”

Casting one final glance at the jars, he blows out the candles and locks the basement door before rushing back upstairs, his heart thumping wildly in his throat.


	11. february 15th, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! hope you're having lovely holiday week, if that's your jam, and I hope you like this chapter! I had a lot of fun figuring out how to explain Leorio's new Nen ability, which is maybe the dorkiest thing I've ever admitted over any kind of public forum. thank you SO much for the kudos and thoughtful comments, they make me so happy.

**10:28 am, Nostrade Estate**

“Where are you going?” 

Kurapika whirls around to see Senritsu poking her head out of her bedroom. She’s wearing her nightgown and looks bleary-eyed with sleep. Morning sunlight filters through the clouded windows, casting squares of molten gold across the thick burgundy carpets in the hallway. 

“Senritsu. I’ll be back in a few days.” 

He turns to continue down the hallway, but Senritsu steps out of her room to block his way. The crown of her head barely reaches Kurapika’s rib cage. She stares up at him and crosses her arms. 

"What’s the matter with you? You look so ill.” 

She looks truly upset. Kurapika breathes deeply and wipes his sweaty forehead with his cuff. He’s running out of time, he needs to _go_ , they could be catching up with Leorio already...

“I’m sorry. I appreciate your concern. Excuse me.” 

He tries to duck past Senritsu’s diminutive form, and she actually grabs his upper arm, glaring. Her grip is surprisingly strong. 

“Senritsu, please—”

“Whatever you’re doing, it can wait. Your Nen is seriously depleted. You’re about to collapse.” 

He resists the urge to shake off her hand, swallowing hard. _She means well._

“Please let go of me.” 

“I can’t let you leave in good conscience. Your heartbeat is frightening me. You should go back to your room and—”

“It’s Leorio,” Kurapika blurts, “he’s in danger and it’s my fault!” 

She releases him, wide-eyed with alarm. 

“What? What’s happening?” 

Kurapika closes his eyes and feels himself swaying on his feet. 

“It’s my fault, I should have never gone to see him at all, and now it’s too late...” He pauses to lean a hand against the wall. “I got him involved when I shouldn’t have. I knew better but I still let him endanger himself. I was weak...” 

“What are you talking about? I thought you said there was no lead with Xavier?” 

“Yes. Or at least not that we knew of originally. The Immortals have a pair of Scarlet Eyes...it’s complicated, but I don’t have any time to spare. Please.” 

He opens his eyes to see her peering up at him. To his confusion, there’s a resigned smile on her face. 

“You don’t give Leorio much credit, do you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He’s a Hunter. You should have more confidence in his abilities.” 

“It’s—it’s not that, it’s just—it’s dangerous, and I tried to convince him that he shouldn’t be around me at all, Senritsu, but my plan backfired and now they’ll be going after him.” 

“If he’s trying to help you, let him. He can make his own decisions.” 

“He has no idea what these people are like. I have to protect him from this. He’s much safer when he’s away from me, I was foolish to let myself get involved and—”

“Do you love him?” Senritsu interrupts. 

Kurapika blinks, taken aback. 

“That—that doesn’t matter—”

“Of course it does.” 

“I need to go.” 

“He loves you, you know.” 

“That’s—that’s not important.” 

“You can’t control how someone feels about you.” 

Kurapika is silent, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“Do you love him?” Senritsu repeats, her voice gentle.

His traitorous heart does a strangled backflip in his chest. He’s sure she already knows the answer, but she waits for him to speak nonetheless. 

“I—” Kurapika stutters, making a helpless gesture, “o-of course. Of _course_ I do. But it doesn’t matter,” he says despairingly, “it makes no difference. Love doesn’t...it doesn’t protect anyone or change anything. I loved my brethren, too, and...” He breaks off with a shuddering breath and shakes himself. “I have to go.” 

They stand without speaking for a moment, listening to the twittering birdsong from the distant garden. Senritsu gives him another searching look before reaching up to pat him on the shoulder.

"It will be all right, Kurapika. You’ll see. Send Leorio my greetings.” 

Her expression is so kind that something crumples in Kurapika’s stomach. He knows that his voice will break if he speaks, so he nods wordlessly, and she steps aside to let him pass. 

* * *

 **2:47 pm, Leorio’s apartment**  

Leorio is peeling off his sweat-soaked suit to take a shower when his phone rings from the top of the medicine cabinet. He lurches forward to grab it, adrenaline shooting through his veins as he accepts the call and shoves it to his ear. 

“H’llo?” 

“Leorio?” 

It’s Kurapika. Leorio’s pulse rockets. 

“Are you all right?! I’ve been calling for hours!” 

“I apologize. Where are you now? Why didn’t you go with Callisto and Linda? Is Callisto all right?” 

He finishes shimmying out of his pants and sinks onto the edge of the bathtub. The ceramic tile is cold against his bare skin. 

“They’re both fine. Where are you?” 

“I...” He hears Kurapika take a ragged breath. “I’m on an express airship back from York Shin. I’ll land in twenty minutes. Are you at your apartment?” 

“I—yes, I’m here—did Linda call you? Are you going to the meeting tonight?” 

“Yes. Please, Leorio, go to Whale Island as soon as you can. Did Gon and Killua take them? Did they go by airship? You need to leave as soon as possible.” 

Leorio exhales in a hiss, covering his watering eyes with his free hand. 

"Kurapika. What the _fuck_ is going on?” The words come out low and wounded, and he pushes forward anyways, throwing his pride to the wind. “Please. You’re scaring me.” 

There’s a long pause. 

“I just...I thought you would...hate me if I told you to kidnap Callisto,” Kurapika says in a strange voice. “I thought you’d give up on me.” 

Leorio stares at his threadbare bath mat, frowning. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“I deduced that Yakushin was near, so I wanted you and Callisto to be as far away from this as possible. I knew that if I explained the situation fully to you, you would insist on staying with me to help. So I tried to make you angry with me. But perhaps I didn’t...think things through.” 

“I knew something was wrong. I knew there was another reason. So when did you realize that he was being poisoned?” 

“After we parted ways yesterday. I returned to his room and investigated the aura surrounding the medical equipment.”

“Gotcha,” Leorio says slowly, fidgeting with an empty toilet paper roll. “But I still don’t get it. You thought I’d kidnap the kid first, run away, and then get mad at you? In that order?” 

“I...believed that you would trust me enough to investigate the situation for yourself, and I knew that you would notice the Nen poison immediately.” He pauses. “I was desperate, but I should never have taken advantage of your kindness. Forgive me.” 

 _Ah. So that’s what that was all about._ Leorio pinches the bridge of his nose and resists the urge to shout him down. _You stupid idiot. I still love you so much._

“Well, geez,” he says instead. “Have a little faith in a guy, will ya?” 

Kurapika laughs shakily. 

“That’s what Senritsu said, too.” 

“Tch. You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

“Let’s hope not,” Kurapika replies dryly, and Leorio snorts with laughter in spite of himself. He’s so tired that he feels slightly crazy. 

“So now what?” 

“I will disguise myself as Linda and take her place at the meeting tonight. Can you contact Flaviana for me? Linda says she has a spare key to her apartment.” 

“Does this mean you’ll let me help you? Where’s the meeting? Can I come?” 

Kurapika makes a hesitant noise. 

“It’s safer if you—”

“Let me help or I won’t call Flaviana. You don’t have to be such a freakin’ martyr all the time.” 

Leorio pictures Kurapika’s mouth pressing into an irritated line. 

“I—” Kurapika sighs noisily into the phone. “All right.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you, Leorio. You don’t have to do this.” 

“Too bad,” he replies, noticing with a kind of distant amusement that he’s been naked for the entire phone call. “Hey, Peeks, wanna take a shower?” He can’t suppress an unhinged, sleep-deprived giggle. 

“...What?” 

“I smell like a barnyard. Come take a shower with me.” 

“What are you—are you feeling all right?” 

“Not at all. Text me your gate number and I’ll come pick you up when you land.” 

* * *

Forty-five minutes later Leorio is idling on the curb outside of the York Shin Airlines gate, listening to the scratchy radio and furiously drumming his fingers against the wheel in time with the music. It’s an annoying pop song that’s been overplayed on every station in the country all month, and he hums along without realizing it. A muggy rain is falling. It’s fogging up the windows of the car, and he can’t quite figure out the right combination of windshield wipers and air conditioning to clear up the swaths of condensation on the glass. Five minutes pass before he spots a blurred yellow head approaching. He cranks down the window and sticks his head into the mist. 

“Hey! Over here!” 

Kurapika looks up in alarm and hurries over to the passenger side, throwing open the door and settling inside before Leorio has a chance to cut the engine and greet him. 

“Let’s go,” Kurapika says, eyes darting around anxiously. Despite the cold, he’s got his shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows, and his tie is loosened around his neck. Beads of sweat glisten at his temples, and the shadows under his eyes are as dark as ink stains. “I don’t think I’m being followed, but we should hurry. Is your Zetsu activated?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry. Kurapika—my god, you look terrible. You should put the seat down and rest.” 

Leorio shifts the car into drive and peels out of the waiting zone with a screech, wincing as he breathes in the acrid smell of burnt rubber. Shit. He’s borrowing Flaviana’s car, and she won’t be happy if he ruins her tires. 

“I’m fine,” Kurapika replies automatically before looking over and softening. He places a cold hand on Leorio’s wrist. “Hello, Leorio. Thank you for picking me up.” 

“Anytime, sunshine.” 

Kurapika turns bright red and hides a crooked grin behind his chained hand. Leorio reaches over to ruffle his hair, feverishly happy to see him in spite of everything. 

* * *

Linda lives in a tough neighborhood. Most of the storefronts they pass are boarded up and painted with graffiti. Shifty-eyed men loiter on street corners, smoking cigarettes and drinking out of paper bags. Yellow-grassed yards contain intriguing arrays of junk; teetering piles of paint cans and abandoned toilets and busted up plywood. Here and there a battered stuffed animal or a child’s lacy sock sticks out, remnants of a past life in a nicer part of town. The melancholy tableau of urban poverty is all too familiar to Leorio. 

The apartment is above a convenience store with bullet holes in the window. Leorio parks across the street and triple checks that the car is locked as Kurapika hops out, yawning and stretching. 

“Do you have the keys?” 

Leorio nods, jingling the key ring in his pocket. He’s lucky that Flaviana doesn’t ask many questions. 

“Yep. Let’s go.” 

They cross the street and walk up a flight of dimly lit stairs to Linda’s apartment landing. Kurapika’s nervous gaze swivels around so frequently that Leorio’s neck starts to ache in sympathy. He fumbles with the key for a second before fitting it into the clunky lock, and the door swings open to reveal a dark, cramped kitchen. Kurapika rushes ahead of him, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

“You’re gonna borrow her clothes?” Leorio asks, lowering his voice instinctively. He feels an odd mixture of pity and curiosity as he edges into the apartment, looking around at the kid drawings taped to the fridge and the piles of medical textbooks stacked haphazardly on a sagging card table. Nothing happens when he flicks on a light switch; the power must be disconnected. 

“Yes,” Kurapika calls from the bedroom, rummaging through Linda’s closet. “Can you look around for a mask? Linda said she can’t remember where she put it.” 

“What kinda mask?” 

“How many do you think she has lying around?” 

“Oh, excuse me for asking,” Leorio grumbles, opening drawers and cabinets. “Huh. Where would you keep a mask?” 

Linda’s not very organized. Leorio rifles though the usual jumble of kitchen crap for several minutes; melted spatulas and rubber bands and stained takeout menus. He gives up on the kitchen and heads for the hallway closet, stumbling in the dark. 

The closet is an even bigger mess. A box of old photos tumbles out on Leorio when he opens the door, and he leans down to shove them back into place, swearing. His eyes alight on one of the photos. A teenaged, bikini-clad Linda beams up at him with her arm around a tall man as they lounge on a tropical beach. The guy is handsome in a rugged, swarthy, pirate-y way, and his hand rests protectively over Linda’s pale stomach. Leorio flips the photo over and sees something written in loopy, childlike cursive: 

_Me and Greg on Whale Island, two months along with Baby C_

“Did you find it?” Kurapika asks breathlessly, coming out of the bedroom with an armful of Linda’s clothing. “What are you doing?” 

Leorio hands him the photo. 

“Look. This must be him.” 

Kurapika takes the photo and frowns down at it. 

“He doesn’t show any signs of Salazari’s. I wonder if whoever was poisoning Cal was doing the same thing to him. He looks perfectly healthy here.” 

“Maybe. But he could have been sick. It might not be symptomatic until the terminal stages.” 

Kurapika places the photo back in the box, smiling faintly. 

“You already sound like a doctor.” 

“I should hope so,” Leorio says, scowling. “I am one. Or I will be, if I don’t get kicked out of school.” 

“For rescuing Callisto? Surely they will understand. I can ask the Hunter organization to intervene, if need be.” 

“Well, thing is, most doctors outside of the couple of Hunters I know aren’t gonna accept ‘magical poison’ as a good excuse for anything. But I used Nen to punch out the security cameras, so nobody’s gonna know it was me. C’mon, Kurapika, give me some credit here.” 

“Oh. That’s good.” 

“My grades aren’t great right now, though,” Leorio amends. “And that one I can definitely blame on you.” He stands up with a groan and dusts off his knees. “Okay. Let’s find this thing.” 

Leorio continues searching through the closet, digging through piles of moth-eaten blankets until his hand brushes against a smooth lacquered surface. He tugs out the object by its silk ribbon and holds it to the light. 

It’s a mask in the shape of a crafty fox face, painted in shiny red and silver. The snout is elongated, and the hollow eyes are cut into narrow slits. Goosebumps prickle on his arms. 

“Hey. This must be it.” 

Kurapika returns from the bedroom, a plaid skirt clutched in one hand. 

“It’s a kitsune,” he says, reaching out to take the mask from Leorio. He tilts it this way and that, and the dim light coming from the tiny kitchen window catches against the mask in a way that makes Leorio’s teeth itch. “This must be it. Feel that aura?” 

Leorio doesn’t need to activate his Gyo to notice the thrum of shadowy energy. 

“Yeah. Big time. What did you say it was?” 

“A kitsune,” Kurapika repeats confidently, slipping into in his I’ve Read About Everything voice. It makes Leorio want to slap him and kiss him at the same time. “Also known as an Inari mask. Remember Hanzo? These originate from the same country as him. In folklore, they are depicted as foxes that guard the country’s temples from demons. They are also associated with shape shifting.” 

“Oh. Like sushi. Same place.” 

“Hmm? Yes,” Kurapika replies distractedly. “All right. Now that we have the mask, can you help me determine which outfit looks the most believable?” 

They walk into the bedroom, where Kurapika has assembled a pile of clothing on Linda’s twin bed. Leorio hovers by the desk. The masks grins up at him from the foot of the bed, and he looks away, uneasy. 

“Uh. Sure. I dunno what she’d wear to, eh, a cult meeting, though.” 

Kurapika throws him a baleful stare, pulling a pink sweater over his head. 

“But I can try,” Leorio adds quickly. “Okay, uh...that one looks a little too, uh...” 

Kurapika gives it an appraising look, picking off a piece of invisible lint. 

“You can tell I’m not female in this. I’ll need something less revealing.” 

“How about...” Leorio says, walking over to search through the pile, “this one?” He pulls out a long-sleeved black dress. “This has, er, a little padding built in.” 

Kurapika yanks off the pink sweater and dons the black dress. It’s cut in a sharp hourglass, and the bodice stands up on its own. Picking up the mask, Kurapika places it over his face and ties the red silk ribbon. 

“So?”

The effect is eerie. Leorio can only make out Kurapika’s contact-darkened irises behind the eyes of the mask, and the dress is convincing enough that nobody would think twice about the body of its inhabitant. 

“Yeah. That’ll work. But isn’t her hair really dark?” 

Kurapika takes off the mask and dress, placing them both into a plastic bag along with one of Linda’s winter coats. 

“I have a wig back at your place. I imagine that it will be close enough to pass. Her feet are too small for me to wear her shoes, but I have a pair of heels in my suitcase that should avoid attracting attention.” 

"Do you just lug around all your disguise stuff all the time?” Leorio asks in disbelief, scratching his head. “How often do you have to do this?” 

“It can be useful,” Kurapika answers vaguely. He strides out of the bedroom as Leorio tags behind him. “This is all I need. Make sure to lock the door as we depart.” 

“Are you counting on not having to talk at all?” Leorio asks as they leave the apartment. The rain has intensified, and the breeze makes their collars snap around their necks as they rush back to the car. “You don’t sound anything like Linda.” 

“I’m not planning on staying long enough for anyone to notice. I only need to gain entry. From what Linda explained, the masks serve as a kind of name tag for the members. Once I’m in, I will retrieve the eyes as quickly as possible and exit the premises.” 

They get back into the car, and Leorio starts up the windshield wipers with a squeal. 

“Really? You don’t wanna...take down Yakushin, or anything?” 

Kurapika shrugs as he buckles his seatbelt.

“My powers are only designed to be fully effective against the Spiders. As much as collectors disgust me, I must save my energies for fighting the troupe.” 

“Huh.” 

Leorio has a million more questions as they drive through the sheets of rain, but Kurapika’s eyes are drifting shut. He nods off two blocks from Leorio’s apartment, and Leorio can hardly bring himself to wake him when they arrive. 

“We’re here,” Leorio whispers, touching Kurapika’s shoulder gently as he jolts awake and stares around in a disheveled panic. “Hey. It’s okay.” 

“How long was I asleep?” 

“Like two seconds. Come on. Let’s go inside and you can sleep for a bit.” 

“I need to prepare,” Kurapika mutters as he grabs the bag of clothing and follows Leorio up the narrow staircase. “I don’t have any time to rest.” 

“Sure,” Leorio agrees. “What time is the meeting?” 

“Linda said to arrive at the dock at a quarter to seven. There will be a boat waiting to take me to the island.” 

“Gotcha.” 

They reach the apartment and stumble inside, wiping their wet shoes on his doormat. Leorio turns to Kurapika and places a hand on his forehead. His skin burns beneath Leorio’s fingers, and he purses his lips and tries to duck away. 

“Leorio—”

“You’re really burning up. Rest for a bit.” 

Leorio presses his palm firmly against Kurapika’s forehead before he can wriggle away. He feels a warm tingle travel through his fingers into Kurapika’s pallid skin, and when the sensation passes he pulls away and turns to hang up his coat. 

“What did you just do?” Kurapika demands, regarding him with narrowed eyes. 

“Oh, nothing,” Leorio replies airily. “I’m a doctor. I was feeling your temperature.” 

Leorio whistles through his teeth and walks into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of cold coffee from the espresso pot. Kurapika trails behind him, a suspicious frown pinching up his sweet face. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he manages to get a word out he slumps suddenly onto the couch. 

Kurapika’s eyes are closed before his head hits the armrest, and by the time Leorio has finished the last grainy dregs of his espresso, he can hear quiet snuffling snores. He tiptoes over to the couch and drags the knitted blanket over Kurapika, tucking it snugly around his slender frame. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs as Kurapika’s eyelids flicker, “but you’ll thank me later. I’ll wake you up in two hours.” 

It’s a bit of a dirty trick, he admits, but it’s for Kurapika’s own good. A few months ago, Leorio figured out a way to emit just enough healing Nen to have an effect similar to a couple of Benadryl. He’s not entirely sure how it works yet, but he suspects that his Nen breaks into tiny particles in the bloodstream to block the body’s histamine receptors, which in turn cross the blood-brain barrier to inhibit the hormonal regulation of sleep and wakefulness. The result is that the patient is enveloped in a warm, sleepy, medicinal haze. It’s been an incredibly useful skill with his young patients, particularly those who are sensitive to pain medication. Best of all, none of the Nen-less doctors notice a thing. 

Leorio smiles at Kurapika as he shifts in his sleep. A puddle of drool collects on the couch cushion next to Kurapika’s half-open mouth, and Leorio resists the urge to kiss him on the cheek. He needs his rest before tonight. 

He shuts his dusty blinds to block out the hazy afternoon daylight before retreating to his bedroom. To be safe, he sets four different alarms on his clock, cell phone, and computer. Kurapika would definitely kill him if they missed the Immortals meeting. Sighing, he flops into bed, shoving aside the pile of leftover medical equipment he stole for Callisto. His phone buzzes with a text from Gon. 

_Hi Leorio! We made it 2 whale island! Linda and Cal r fine and really hungry so Mito-San is making dinner and then their gona take a nap and me and Killua will write you back again is everything okay wheres Koorapica how r you doing and are u guys going to come visit 2? Okay bye!_

He taps out a reply.

_Thanks so much, boys. I’m so glad. I really owe you one. I’ll come visit as soon as I can. Keep me updated._

Leorio wipes his eyes and drags a pillow over his head. He’s too exhausted to take off his dirty suit or get under the covers. The last thought he can muster before he loses consciousness is: _I should probably be angry with Kurapika._

He moans and buries his face against the sheets before falling into a fitful doze.

* * *

 **3:39 pm, Whale Island**  

If there’s one thing Mito knows about herself, it’s that she’s good in a crisis. 

There’s not much that can ruffle her feathers. Ever since she was a child, she’s taken whatever life throws at her with a fierce, graceful competence. She’s navigated the infuriating antics of her idiot cousin Ging, she took on the burden of raising an infant when she was still a child herself, she’s dealt with the deaths of numerous family members, and she can break up drunken fistfights between rowdy sailors with nothing more than a stern glare. 

Still, though, the arrival of Linda and Callisto took Mito by surprise. When she spied the hot air balloon tumbling into the garden earlier that afternoon, she was so shocked that she couldn’t even yell at Gon for squashing her cucumber plants. She rushed outside with a gasp to see Gon and Killua helping a pale young woman and a tiny, sickly boy out of the basket. Whatever this was about, it was serious enough that a scolding could wait. She leapt into action immediately, shaking out the dust from their extra sleeping futons and assembling every ingredient in the house to make a giant pot of stew.  

“Gon, what’s the point of having a phone if you don’t use it to tell me about things like this?” Mito snaps as Gon darts behind her in the kitchen. She’s frantically chopping up vegetables to dump into their biggest cooking pot. “I could have prepared a proper meal for our guests.” 

“I’m really sorry, Mito-San,” Gon pleads, coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her middle. “But they’re gonna love your stew no matter what!” 

“What’s wrong with the child? He looks like he has cancer,” Mito murmurs as she tosses the diced carrots into the pot with a sizzle. “He needs proper medical care, Gon, all I have here is a first-aid kit. We’ll have to call the doctor first thing in the morning.” 

“No, he’s gonna be okay. Leorio-san said that Linda knows what to do! He just needs to rest up and drink a lot of water.” 

“Ah,” Mito groans as she stirs in a handful of chives, “I already added the red peppers. I forgot Killua doesn’t like them. Well, he’ll have to eat around them.” 

“I’ll eat his for him!” Gon declares cheerfully, ducking past Mito to pour two glasses of milk. “He lives off of chocolate anyways, he probably won’t even eat anything at dinner.” He beams at her and thunders out of the kitchen with the glasses clutched in each hand. Drops of milk splatter onto the freshly scrubbed pinewood floor. 

It’s a cool, blustery, early spring day. Clean laundry billows on the clothesline outside. Beyond the tussocky green cliffs, the wind whips the turquoise surface of the ocean into stiff whitecaps like a meringue. Sea birds wheel overhead, chattering and squawking. 

Mito brushes a strand of red hair out of her eyes with a flour-covered wrist, blowing air out of her cheeks. She hears Gon and Killua wrestling upstairs, thudding around and screeching happily. The woman and the child are resting in the guest room. She’ll bring their food up to them later. Abe is sleeping upstairs too, and it’s a miracle that Gon and Killua haven’t woken her up yet. 

She dices up a hunk of thick bacon and adds it to the soup, stirring thoughtfully. Gon gave her a confusing and quickly babbled explanation of the situation, and the woman was in a state of shock, too pale and fatigued to do more than collapse gratefully on the futon, clutching the boy to her chest. She’ll have to give this Leorio person a call to get the whole story.

 _Hunters,_ she thinks ruefully, turning up the gas flame. _Always such a headache._

Still. It gets lonely with just her and Abe. It’s nice to have a house full of people for a change. 

* * *

**4:42 pm, Leorio’s apartment**

“Hey.” 

Kurapika swats away the hand that’s shaking his shoulder and rolls into the couch cushions. He’s dreaming about walking through a field of shimmering fireflies at dusk. 

“Mm.” 

“Hey. Sorry, but you should wake up.” 

The hand is more insistent, pulling the warm blanket away from his chin. The fireflies blur and scatter like embers.

“What?” Kurapika hisses, rubbing his gritty eyelids with a fist. He blinks several times as Leorio’s concerned face comes into focus, hovering above him in the shadows. 

Oh. He’s in Leorio’s apartment. Judging from the bruised blue-gray look of the sky outside, it’s early evening. He pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches his stiff neck.

“What happened? How long have I been here?” Panic grips his chest, and he bolts up abruptly, fumbling for his cell phone. “Shit—the meeting—”

“Don’t worry,” Leorio says, raising a placating hand, “it’s just before five. You’re fine. I thought you’d wanna wake up by now, but you have time. Don’t stand up too fast, though—”

Too late for that. Kurapika leaps off of the couch, shoving his feet into his shoes and scrambling around for the bag of Linda’s clothes. Leorio steps back with his hands over his head. He looks as out of it as Kurapika feels; there’s a shadow of prickly stubble on his chin, and his blue suit is rumpled and stained. 

“What did you do? I don’t even remember falling asleep. What happened? Did I collapse again?” 

“Uh. Yeah,” Leorio says, rubbing the back of his neck. “How are you feeling?” 

Kurapika ties his shoes and pauses to consider the question for a moment. Oddly, he feels...good. Better than he’s felt in months, in fact. His head is clear, his throat feels less swollen, and the tension in his shoulders seems to have dissipated. 

“I feel...fine, actually.” 

“Good!” Leorio exclaims. “Well...I guess...we should get you ready.” 

They stand looking at each other for a minute, and Kurapika feels the intense strangeness of the situation settle into his bones. He holds the bag of Linda’s clothing and chews on a thumbnail, deliberating. Something pulls tight and shivering in the pit of his stomach. 

Through the apartment walls, a neighbor tunes a television to the evening news. The mouthwatering smell of instant curry drifts into the room, and Kurapika almost laughs to imagine the building’s inhabitants going about their nightly routines, getting home from work and making dinner and grousing about their jobs as their spouses iron laundry and bathe the kids and feed the dogs. And here he is, standing a foot away from Leorio in the darkness, about to don the aura-filled kitsune mask and put on a dress, headed to a desolate island to infiltrate a cult and reclaim the stolen eyes of his clan. 

Leorio watches him with his head tilted to the side. His dark eyes glitter as they catch the orange beam of a streetlight through the window. 

 _He’s so handsome,_ Kurapika thinks with a rush of affection, _he’s so good and sweet and he’s still right here with me. I don’t deserve him at all..._

Before he can lose his nerve, he takes two steps forward and reaches up to cup the back of Leorio’s neck, pulling him down until they’re face to face. Leorio makes a surprised noise and wraps his arms around Kurapika’s shoulders, pressing him against his chest. 

“We have a little time before I leave,” Kurapika mumbles into Leorio’s sternum. “And since I might not come back...” 

He tugs Leorio’s face down and kisses him roughly. 

“Don’t—don’t say _that_ ,” Leorio gasps, breaking away from the kiss. “What the hell? You’ll be fine. I’ll help you. You’ve gone up against worse—”

Kurapika kisses him again before he can say another word, opening his mouth to let his tongue slide against Leorio’s teeth. He can feel Leorio’s skin flushing under his roaming hands, and he pushes him into the bedroom, knocking into furniture and shoes and piles of books as they stagger backwards. 

“Whoa—Pika—”

“Hush,” Kurapika whispers into Leorio’s mouth. They fall against the unmade bed. Kurapika pins Leorio’s wrists over his head and leans down to press his lips against his throat, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. “Talk later.”

Leorio groans and leans up to kiss the side of Kurapika’s mouth, struggling against his grasp. Kurapika releases his grip and starts unbuttoning Leorio’s yellow shirt before giving up entirely and tearing it open. A button rips off of the fabric and pings against the dresser. 

“Easy, tiger,” Leorio pants, “I only have two other shirts—”

Kurapika silences him by plunging a hand into Leorio’s pants to brush against his velvety skin. Leorio hisses in a breath between clenched teeth and rolls on top of Kurapika, nuzzling into his neck and chest. 

“Keep an...eye on the t-time,” Kurapika stutters. He feels Leorio nod against his stomach, and after that the only sounds are the squeaking of the bed frame against the wall and the hum of distant traffic. 

Kurapika is very well-read. He speaks three languages and understands five, and he’s stumbled across all sorts of fascinating expressions during his studies. In French, they call it _la petite mort._ The little death; the temporary weakening or loss of consciousness experienced during...well. Kurapika wouldn’t call himself a prude, exactly, it’s more that the saying always seemed overly dramatic to him. The science behind the thing is clear enough; tension and release, equal parts action and reaction. A simple matter of physics. 

But when the sparkling nebula of pleasure flares up behind his eyes (so different than the usual stinging crimson pain), when he cries out and arches up against Leorio, curling his toes as electricity jolts through his body, he forgets about everything. Leorio murmurs into his sweaty neck and kisses his hairline and strokes his face, and Kurapika can’t remember how it feels to be so _angry_ all the time, to experience so much rage and pain and sorrow, to skulk through the night hunting for blood until his bones ache and his eyes burn. For a minute, he loses himself in the way that Leorio swears and gasps and trembles into his clutching hands. He forgets what it means to be Kurapika. For a second, he surrenders completely. 

They slump against one another, breathing hard and utterly spent. 

The blankets were thrown to the ground at some point, and their clothes lie strewn about the mattress and floor in various states of ruin. It looks like a small tornado came through the room. Leorio rolls onto his back, holding Kurapika’s hand and looking dazed. 

“Wow. Uh.” 

Kurapika hums in agreement. 

“What...uh, what got into you?” Leorio asks, pressing Kurapika’s hand to his mouth and kissing his knuckles. “That was. Um. That. Whoa.” 

Kurapika stares at the ceiling, feeling the sweat cooling on his bare skin. 

“Mm. I talked to Senritsu.” 

Leorio makes in indignant noise, propping himself up on an elbow. 

“What?! That’s all it took?”

“No, I just...” Kurapika begins, touching a freckle on Leorio’s shoulder, “I just...realized that...I might as well...live while I’m alive, I suppose.” 

He can’t get the words out right. Leorio watches him, his face inscrutable in the purple shadows. He tries again. 

“I...didn’t want you to think I didn’t...” 

It’s no use. He’s tongue-tied and inarticulate. He kisses Leorio on the cheek and slides out of bed, combing his hair behind his ears and reaching for Linda’s dress. 

“I need to get ready,” he says, and Leorio sits up, looking resigned.  

“Okay,” Leorio says quietly. “Okay. Yeah. I guess you...hafta get moving.”

The clock tower chimes six. Kurapika places the fox mask over his face and ties it tightly behind his ears. 


	12. under the mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! here is the penultimate chapter...the sh!t is hitting the proverbial fan. Content warning for some canon-typical violence, but (spoiler alert)*  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> *everyone that we care about is okay in the end, if that’s going to stop you from reading the chapter. Also, forgive me for having a little leeway with Kurapika’s Nen abilities. I don’t know if it’s ever stated if he can use his healing chain on other people, but please bear with me and pretend that he can for this chapter. Thank you for reading and I really hope you enjoy the second-to-last chapter of this very long fic!

**6** : **17** **pm** , **three** **miles** **offshore**

It starts to snow as the tiny rowboat approaches a rocky speck of land. Heavy clumps of wet snowflakes gather on the hem of Kurapika’s coat, and the grizzled oarsman curses and starts to row faster, glancing up at the darkening sky. The wind picks up, and whitecaps appear in the slate-gray water. Kurapika wipes the freezing salt spray from his exposed neck and feels thankful for the fox mask covering his entire face. 

“How much further? I’m freezing my nuts off,” shouts the other passenger, a stout man in a wolf mask. He’s wearing an expensive leather coat; Kurapika recognizes the brand from his work with the Nostrades. “I’m paying too much for this shit!” 

The oarsman grunts something in reply that’s lost in the rush of the wind and the surf, and the wolf mask man grumbles and pulls his coat around himself. 

The island looms before them. Kurapika can’t imagine where the boat will dock; the shore is ringed with jagged boulders and steep cliffs. The oarsman steers the boat towards one of the  flatter boulders and hoists an oar out of the water to wedge it against the surface of the rock, securing the boat. 

“Everybody out.” 

The wolf mask man makes an incredulous sound. 

“What? We’re not close to the entrance at all! Surely you can get us closer?” 

The oarsman heaves a beleaguered sigh as the boat rocks violently in the waves. Kurapika adjusts his mask and gets to his feet carefully as the wolf mask man puffs up his chest. 

“I get paid to go this far. Get out. I don’t row you back.” 

“I don’t even know where it is! This is ridiculous. Yakushin will hear about this, you know! I can have you fired like that!” 

The man snaps his fingers for emphasis, but the oarsman doesn’t even look up, still resolutely holding the boat in place with the heavy oar. As the wolf mask man continues to bluster, Kurapika leaps out of the boat and onto the slippery boulders. 

It’s so icy that Kurapika almost loses his footing and falls into the churning sea; heart pounding, he steadies himself and clambers higher up the face of the cliff where the ground is drier. Below, the man continues to shout at the oarsmen, and the waves crash against the rocks. One wrong move and Kurapika could fall twenty feet onto the sharp rocks or into the frigid ocean, but he climbs nimbly over the rocks for about ten minutes until the terrain levels out and turns to dense forest. 

He pauses to catch his breath, staring up at the dark wall of trees before him. He has no idea where to go from here. 

“There will be signs,” Linda had said on the phone earlier, and so far it was true; Kurapika had shown up to the dock she’d mentioned and waited for the boat just like she told him to. “Once you’re there, it will be obvious.” 

It’s snowing hard, and his disguise isn’t warm enough for him to last longer than an hour or two outdoors. He has no idea what to do next, and he doesn’t want to use Emperor Time until he needs to. His aura is already so depleted. 

For a guilty moment he wishes that Leorio were with him. Leorio would know what to do; Leorio would be decisive and brave. 

 _No_ , he reminds himself. _Much_ _too_ _dangerous_. He has to do this alone. 

* * *

In the car on the way to the harbor earlier, Leorio tried to argue only once before falling silent. He parked the car and turned to clutch Kurapika’s hand in both of his. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to...” Leorio began, his face pale and serious. 

Kurapika swallowed. “No. I’m sorry.” 

Leorio squeezed his hand, closing his eyes and sighing. 

“All right. But please, Kurapika...be careful. Just. Be careful.” 

Kurapika nodded and looked away. When the rowboat appeared at the rusty dock, he pulled his hand out of Leorio’s and left the car without another word. His throat was too tight to speak. 

* * *

Ten minutes pass as Kurapika stands under a pine tree, deliberating. The falling snow makes a whispery sound as it settles onto the forest floor and catches on the branches of the pine trees. There’s an eerie maroon glow suffusing the landscape. He shoves his hands in his pockets and stamps his feet to keep warm as he scans his surroundings, but there’s nothing but dark forest and empty ocean in every direction. 

Frustrated, Kurapika emits just enough En to canvas a 1000-foot radius, hoping that something will register. Even this small burst of aura makes him feel shaky and nauseous, and he maintains it for as long as he can, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, until—

 _There_. It’s distant, but there, flickering on the edge of his consciousness, right at 2 o clock, about half a mile away, there’s a cluster of aura picking up. If Kurapika’s estimations are correct, it feels like a group of forty or fifty people, only some of whom are Nen users. Relieved, he starts to walk northwest, his feet sinking into the powdery snow with every step. He shakes the ice out of his socks and traipses deeper into the dense forest. 

Through the trees, he sees the faint glow of a small building. Candles shine from the windows, their orange light spilling out onto the snow. Kurapika breaks into a jog. Sodden clumps of snow cling to his feet. Once he’s closer, he sees that the building is an old church built from white pinewood. There’s a glowing path of lumpy snow leading to the door, the lanterns must have been buried under the recent snowfall. Kurapika can hear the murmur of voices inside. His palms start to sweat. 

As he approaches, two men in long dark robes and white masks appear soundlessly from behind the trees. Kurapika pauses, his pulse rushing in his ears, but they only stare at him blankly and check something on a cell phone, muttering to one another, before pulling open the thick wooden door and waving him inside. 

Kurapika was right; there are about fifty people inside of the small church. Everyone’s crammed onto the dusty pews. Some of the stained glass windows are cracked with bullet holes. Candles are clustered on every available shelf and surface, dripping wax and sending up sputtering puffs of black smoke. Everyone’s face is covered by a different mask, except for about a dozen people wearing the same white masks and long robes as the guards outside. Some masks are leering goblins and ornate dragons, some are grinning monkeys and dogs and bears, and some are blank and expressionless. All of the masks are tinged with a sickly wash of Nen.

Kurapika shudders. 

There’s an an anticipatory, nervous air to the group; it’s clear that whatever they’re here for hasn’t happened yet. The front of the church is obscured by a curtain made of black velvet, and a few of the white mask guys hover in front of it. Kurapika slides into a pew near the back next to a woman in a lion mask, who nods in recognition and pats him on the thigh. 

“Hey, Linda,” the woman whispers. “Glad you made it. This is it, huh? This is the real deal.” Her voice is excited and breathy, and she jiggles her legs rapidly against the pew. 

Startled, Kurapika makes a noncommittal hum, hoping that the woman won’t try to talk with him further, but she seems to take this in stride. When she turns away to stare expectantly towards the front of the church again, Kurapika follows her gaze. The white mask guards tug back the curtain, and a reverent hush falls over the murmuring crowd. 

* * *

  **8** : **49** **pm** , **Leorio’s** **apartment**  

Leorio paces back and forth in his kitchen, chewing on his lip and clutching his cell phone in his pocket. It’s been less than two hours since he dropped Kurapika off at the harbor, and he’s driving himself crazy with worry. 

He knows Kurapika can handle himself in all kinds of situations; he’s seen him radiate a ferocious, lethal intensity, all lithe energy and blazing eyes and deadly rage. He knows that Kurapika has no choice but to reclaim the Scarlet Eyes. 

But it’s becoming more clear than ever that this mission is eating away at every gentle part of Kurapika. He’s being whittled down to a steel fiber of anger and pain and grief. And something isn’t right with his Nen; every time he uses it he’s sick and trembling afterwards. Something is very wrong there, and it makes Leorio’s stomach writhe  to even imagine what it could be. He can’t bring himself to ask, because deep in his heart he already knows the answer. 

His phone rings with Killua’s ringtone. Leorio ceases his pacing and picks up immediately, grateful for the distraction. 

“Hey! Killua. How’s it hangin.” 

“Hey, old man.” 

There’s a muffled thump in the background, and the sound of a woman yelling. Leorio hears Gon laughing in the distance. 

“What’s going on over there?” 

“Oh, Gon’s entertaining Cal by climbing all the furniture or something. I dunno. Mito’s having a cow.” 

“Ah. Send her my apologies,” Leorio says through a weak laugh. 

“Eh, I’m pretty sure she hates anyone who’s a Hunter anyways, so save your breath.” 

“How’s Linda?” 

Killua pauses to call something to Gon in the background. 

“Um, fine, I think. She’s resting. Mito made her eat dinner and stuff.” 

“Okay. Good. Thanks, Killua.”

“Mm. Yeah. So how’s it going? Kurapika figure out how to get into the thing?” 

“Yeah. He’s...he’s already there now.” 

“Oh. Damn. You think he’s gonna be...?” 

There’s a long pause. 

“I don’t know, Killua,” Leorio says softly. He leans against the doorframe and closes his eyes, chest suddenly tight. “I really hope so.” 

“Is there anything we can do?” 

“No, I...I tried to convince him, but he doesn’t want anyone to help.” 

“Why not? We helped him in York Shin.” 

“Yeah. I know.” Leorio rubs his eyes. “I think...he feels really guilty about that. He doesn’t want us to be in danger for him anymore, I think.” 

Killua scoffs.

“That’s stupid. We’re all Hunters. And we’re his friends, we’re...we’re supposed to help! That’s bullshit. You and me and Gon wouldn’t do that...” he trails off, his voice low and wounded. “We’d let each other help.” 

“I know, kid.” 

They’re both quiet for a minute until Killua coughs, sounding embarrassed. 

“Well. Maybe you should...” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good luck, then.” 

“Yeah. Keep me posted, okay?” 

“Will do,” Killua replies, and he hangs up with a click. Leorio stares at the phone in his hand, blinking back tears.

* * *

 

“IMMORTALS!”

A great cheer rises up from the congregation as the white mask guards yank back the velvet curtain. A tall man strides forward, wearing a heavy sealskin coat and a mask with the face of a snarling red demon. He’s flanked by a squat little man in an owl mask who’s holding a large box. 

“Yakushin! Yakushin!” 

The crowd erupts into chanting and yelling as the demon-faced man strides forward, raising his arms towards the ceiling. The woman next to Kurapika has dissolved into joyful tears, clasping her hands together and falling onto her knees. He glances around in panic; everyone is equally affected, and he quickly pretends to be overcome with emotion, kneeling down and flapping his hands overhead. The owl mask man places the box onto a smooth wooden table and starts removing the objects. There are glistening vials of liquids, animal hides, chunks of gold and gemstones, and jars containing preserved body parts. Kurapika stares through the narrow eyeholes of his masks, breathing hard. There are no Kurta eyes in sight yet, but the owl mask man continues to unpack the box as Yakushin strides back and forth, his sealskin coat dragging on the dirt floor. 

“You have all waited! You have been patient servants! Each of you have worked, and bled, and suffered, and it’s because of you that our elixir is complete for the first time in history! No more will we suffer the indignity of mortal life! No more will we be shackled to the confines of our pathetic bodies! We are weak!” 

Linda was really downplaying this meeting when she mentioned that there would be speeches. The undercurrent of hysteria in the room makes Kurapika shiver with fear. He needs to get the eyes and get out as soon as possible; if he tries to hurt Yakushin the crowd will surely turn on him. 

“We are weak,” the crowd sobs and wails, rocking back and forth. “We are pathetic!” 

“But tonight is the night that we can all transcend our mortal coil! Just one mouthful of this elixir will heal any disease, and a glass of it will grant eternal life!” 

“Thank you, Yakushin! Thank you!” 

A man in the next pew is so overcome that he faints onto the floor, hitting his chin against a shelf on the way down. The crowd parts around him and ignores the interruption, hanging onto Yakushin’s every word. The owl mask man fishes out the last object from the box and presents it with a flourish, and Kurapika’s eyes flare burning hot as Yakushin steps aside to reveal a pair of Kurta eyes bobbing in a glass jar, glinting like rubies in the candlelight. 

“As you know, before tonight we have never been fully successful. We have been able to heal briefly; we remember our dear departed Gregor, granted a reprieve from his terrible Salazari’s.” 

Several people turn their masked faces towards Kurapika, clutching at their chests and weeping. Kurapika bows his head, trying to look overcome with grief as the crowd surrounds him, placing hands on his back and touching parts of his wig. He ducks away, feigning emotion. He needs to move fast here or his cover will be blown. But what can he do? He’s never felt so helpless; all of his planning went into to getting into the room. Now that he’s here, he’s stuck. He can’t use his chains on these people; they’re not Spiders, and his aura is so depleted that he can barely maintain his Zetsu.

If only he had some backup—maybe if Leorio were here he could—Kurapika shakes his head to dislodge the thought. No. No. Focus. He starts to tremble as he’s buffeted this way and that in the huddle of warm bodies surrounding him. 

“Ah, poor Gregor! If only he knew how his sacrifice would help us today!” Yakushin cries, trailing his hands over the objects on the table. A guard steps forward with a large glass bowl and places it on a portable gas burner. Kurapika smells a whiff of kerosene as the flames are lit. Shadows dance against the pinewood walls. “And our dear Linda!” Yakushin continues, “working tirelessly to secure the most important ingredient of all; the Scarlet Eyes! Forever tinged with eternal passion!” 

Yakushin turns abruptly and places his hands over the glass bowl. He snaps his fingers, and three of the white mask guards come forward. 

“Bring the sufferers out,” Yakushin instructs, and the guards turn and hurry behind the curtain. When they return, they’re supporting two unmasked people: an old man and a girl in her teens, both of whom have the look of late-term cancer patients. They have patchy hair and sallow skin, and neither of them can walk properly. They’re half-carried out to the front of the church, and Yakushin walks towards them and caresses their scabby faces with gloved hands. 

“Our dear members Norikawa and Sofia,” Yakushin sighs. “Tonight is the last night they will ever feel the pain of this wretched illness!” 

“Yes! Heal them,” begs the crowd. “Heal them! Tonight is the night!” 

The girl and the man smile weakly out at the crowd. Kurapika can feel the same aura that was used to poison Cal. He has no doubt that neither of these people are actually sick, and he bites his tongue so hard that he tastes blood. 

Kurapika is running out of time and he still has no plan. If he’s going to rush the stage and take the eyes, this might be the last window he has. His vision is clouded by a red haze, and his heart is pounding so hard that he can see it jumping through the front of Linda’s dress. Yakushin is starting to add ingredients to the bowl; he’s tossing in animal hides and vials of potions, and the crowd is moving like one huge animal around him, undulating and shifting and moaning as their emotions reach a fever pitch. The Nen on their masks must be growing stronger; nobody seems capable of any free will. Kurapika feels it tugging on his own mask, too, a queasy undertow that makes him want to sway and cry out with his neighbors, and although he wants to rip the mask from his face, he fights the sensation, hands shaking and eyes blazing. It’s now or never—he needs to get the eyes and go—he needs a distraction somehow—but how? 

As he works up the nerve to rise from his seat, the room is instantly plunged into total darkness. A volley of gunfire explodes from outside. A bullet ricochets off of a window and cracks it into a spiderweb of broken glass. Several women scream, and the crowd plunges into chaos as they scramble for the exits. Kurapika sprints towards the front, knocking into bodies with his hands outstretched as he hunts for the jar. 

“SIT DOWN!” Yakushin bellows over the crowd. “NO! SIT DOWN!” 

Kurapika is almost to the front when his mask comes loose. Panicking, he tries to grab it off of the floor, but it’s swept away in the stampede. He pulls the wig farther down and continues shoving through the crowd. Everything is pitch black and roaring in his ears, and he smells smoke: a bomb? The candles? Poison gas? It tastes acrid and it’s getting in his eyes and nose and mouth, but he keeps pushing himself forward. He’s sure he’s close, even though he can’t see. The church wasn’t that big, he must be close. 

Someone moves out of his way and Kurapika collides with the wooden table, the sharp corner cracking against his hipbone. Eyes watering with pain, he runs his hands blindly over the surface before scrambling for his cell phone in his pocket. He pulls it out and turns on the flashlight feature (he’d forgotten about that before, he always forgets about modern stuff like that when his fight-or-flight response kicks in, damn the Elders for denying his clan any kind of technology), but when he shines the light over the table it’s empty except for a few splatters of liquid surrounding the bowl and a smashed glass vial. 

“No,” he croaks, ducking under the table and shining the light on the floor, “no, no, they were just here, no!” He’s reverted to Kurta without knowing it, and when a white mask guard approaches him he hurriedly turns off the light and retreats, shaking and sweating. “No!” 

Fuck. No. They were there, he’s sure of it, they were just there, there’s no way that Yakushin could have escaped that quickly, there’s no way someone could have ran into the church and taken them...unless it was someone else with the same idea as Kurapika. Someone else who infiltrated the group to take something. Someone with a better plan, clearly...

One of the guards emits a sparkling burst of aura that flies up to the ceiling, illuminating the entire room.  There’s smoke filling the air, and everyone is coughing and wheezing. Kurapika freezes and covers his face with his arms, but nobody is looking at him. A gasp of alarm sweeps through the room as the crowd sees that Yakushin is lying on the floor, bleeding from the head. The white mask guards have created a semicircle around him, arms interlocking to shield him from view. 

“He’s gotten away...I’m fine...go after him already,” Yakushin gurgles from the floor, gesturing frantically at his guards. “Go! Go after Xavier!” 

Kurapika realizes too late that the squat owl mask man is nowhere to be seen. As the crowd stares around in confusion, Kurapika sprints out through the open door and tumbles into the snow, staring around wildly until he sees two sets of footprints leading into the woods. 

* * *

  **10** : **17** **pm** , **two** **miles** **offshore**  

It takes Leorio an hour to find a fisherman willing to accept his bribe. He would have just stolen a boat himself, but he didn’t trust himself to navigate in his current state. He ran from dock to dock, holding out a wad of cash to every bearded fisherman he passed, but finally a weasel-faced old man with a tugboat accepts the offer and tells Leorio to hop in and shut up. Before Leorio finishes thanking the man, they’re puttering across the harbor through the snowstorm. 

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Leorio calls over the wind as the fisherman smokes a cigarette and put his feet up on the steering wheel. “I’m kinda in a hurry here!” 

“One speed only,” the guy grunts, looking perfectly serene. “You wanna go faster, you can swim.” 

Leorio glances down at the icy waves below, briefly considering it, before shutting his mouth and pulling his coat around himself. He wills himself to not think about anything except the task at hand: to get to the island. That was all. Just get there and figure it out as he went. Otherwise he’ll go crazy.

When they reach the island Leorio is so cold that his teeth are chattering and his fingers are turning blue, but he palms another wad of Jenni into the fisherman’s hand and thanks him again. 

“Listen, stay here until I get back,” Leorio tells him. “Okay?” 

The guy looks down with vague interest at the cash before shrugging. 

“Fine by me. If you’re not back by tomorrow I’m leaving, though.” 

“Shouldn’t be that long,” Leorio yells behind him as he starts scrambling across the slimy rocks. “Be back soon!” 

He almost eats shit a few times as he climbs the rocks, and he has to remind himself to slow down. If he falls and cracks his head open before he even reaches Kurapika, he’ll feel really stupid. After a tense fifteen minutes of picking his way through the steep boulders, he reaches the edge of the forest and sends out a net of En, breathing deeply and trying to concentrate. He still hasn’t quite gotten the feeling of this thing right, but it reminds him of feeling around for furniture in the dark; you sorta sensed what was near you by memory and let your hands do the rest as your eyes adjusted. Eventually, blurry shapes start to come into view through fuzzy static. Northwest. About half a mile. A big group of them. Leorio’s heart leaps into his throat as he breaks into a run, his shoes sinking into the thick snow covering the forest floor. He knocks into ice-covered branches as he runs, sending a sparkling scatter of crystals into the clear night air. 

Leorio has no plan, no mask, and no weapons. He didn’t even remember to bring his knife. All he knows is that he can’t spend another minute sitting at home wondering if he’s about to lose another person that he loves. 

The shape of a glowing building comes into view through the snowy trees, and Leorio starts to runs so hard that he feels a knife in his side. He’s panting for breath, the cold air burning in his chest, but he’s close now, maybe another 500 feet to go until he’s there. 

Two pairs of running footsteps come into earshot, and Leorio ducks behind a tree instinctively, leaning on his thighs and gasping as he tries to quiet his breathing. Two men come galloping into view, one short and squat, one tall and thin. The short man is wearing an owl mask, but the tall man has his face uncovered. His elegant face is framed by shoulder-length hair, and he’s wearing ornate jewelry on his long fingers. They’re both holding large burlap bags, and when they reach the clearing near Leorio’s tree the tall man pauses, sniffing the air. Leorio gulps and tries to retreat silently, activating his Zetsu. A twig snaps under his feet and he curses inwardly, pausing with one foot in the air. The tall man turns in a circle, staring around and listening intently. 

“Someone’s here. Show yourself.” 

Leorio stays frozen, his breath shallow and fast. Should he fight? He doesn’t know if his Nen is good enough. 

“Come out. I know you’re nearby, whoever you are.” 

Leorio decides that he would rather not die hiding behind a tree. He takes a gulp of air and steps forward to reveal himself. As he moves from behind the branches, he hears a familiar voice shouting. 

“Stop! No! Tserriednich! Don’t shoot! That’s my student! He’s got nothing to do with this! Stop!”

A jolt of white-hot pain erupts across Leorio’s shoulder. As his vision goes dark and fuzzy at the edges, he sees the tall man turn to shoot Dr. Xavier squarely in the chest. Xavier crumples like a rag doll and hits the ground with a thud. He goes very still, a stream of blood trickling from his mouth onto the snow. Leorio’s eyes widen in shock. The tall man stoops down to grab the bag of out Xavier’s hands before jogging back into the dark trees. 

I’ve been _shot_ , he realizes with a kind of dim awareness. After all the weird Nen bullshit he’s seen, after all the times when he could have been really hurt, he’s been taken out with something as banal as a gun. Two feet away from him, Xavier’s open eyes reflect the starry sky through the slits of his owl mask. 

Leorio fights to stay conscious, but he thinks the bullet hit his brachial artery. He’s bleeding so much, so fast. Strange shapes swim in front of his eyes, and he feels a peculiar warmth creeping across his limbs and chest and dulling the pain. From his medical training, Leorio knows that this is a bad sign, a very bad sign. 

 _No_! _Kurapika_! 

He struggles to push himself off of the ground, but it’s useless; even moving a fraction of an inch makes him exhausted. He slumps against the snow again, feeling the strength leave his body. 

* * *

Kurapika hurtles through the trees, shining his phone flashlight on the uneven ground to follow the two sets of footprints through the snow. He doesn’t have any idea what just happened in the church and he doesn’t care; all that matters is that the eyes of his brethren have been stolen and are growing farther away by the minute. He trips hard over a tree root and scrapes his face against the bark of an elm tree. Spitting out a stream of Kurta epithets, he hoists himself back to his feet and wipes his bloody nose before breaking into a jog again. 

There are two huddled masses on the ground about fifty feet away in a clearing; frowning, Kurapika squints through the darkness and hurries towards them. One of them is the owl mask man, lying dead in the snow with a puddle of blood around his face, but the other—the other—

All of the oxygen leaves his lungs as a strangled, inhuman cry is ripped from his throat. 

No. _No_. It cannot be. 

Kurapika falls to his knees, almost hyperventilating. Before he can stop it, every terrible memory of his clan comes rushing back, and he can barely stay present in the snowy woods. He’s twelve again, staring at the bodies of his family, and it’s his fault it’s his fault it’s all his fault and he couldn’t do anything, they’re all dead because of him and now Leorio is gone and it’s his fault it’s his fault it’s his fault again, he let his pride and his rage lead the killers right to the doorstep of everyone he’s ever loved—

“No! Leorio! No!” 

He slaps Leorio’s cheeks and shakes him by the shoulders, hot tears and snot running all over his face as he breaks into ragged sobs. He drags his sleeve against his face and checks Leorio’s pulse. 

“Leorio...no...please!” 

But thank the gods. He’s able to find a pulse. Leorio is still alive. Kurapika rips open Leorio’s suit jacket and yellow shirt with his teeth and finds the injury. It’s an ugly black bullet wound in his left shoulder already caked with dark blood. Leorio’s face is pallid, but his eyes track vaguely behind his lids, fluttering towards Kurapika’s voice. 

 _Elders_ , _help_ _me_. _If_ _I_ _can_ _do_ _nothing_ _else_ _on_ _this_ _earth_ , _let_ _me_ _save_ _him_. 

Kurapika closes his eyes and touches Leorio’s shoulder with both hands, waiting for the familiar red haze to cloud his sight. It happens almost instantaneously; he’s only been more upset once in his life. The aura builds in his hands and arms until it’s agonizing; it’s like scalding-hot pins and needles, and when it’s almost unbearable he summons his healing chain and waits for the iridescent green cross to wrap around Leorio’s entire torso, bathing him in Nen as it knits his arteries and bones and skin back together.

Once it’s complete Kurapika releases the chain with a gasp and turns to wretch painfully into the snow, tasting sour bile at the back of his throat. Wiping his mouth, Kurapika turns back as Leorio’s eyes flicker open. He sits up to look around, yawning. 

“Kurapika! Are you all right? Where the fuck are we? What happened? Didn’t I...?” He trails off and looks down at his blood-soaked suit in confusion. “Am I dead?” 

Kurapika lurches forward on his knees and wraps his arms around Leorio. 

“You idiot,” he hisses into Leorio’s neck. “I told you not to come!” 

“Oh,” Leorio says in bemusement, and he passes out again, going limp in Kurapika’s arms. 

“Wait, no, you have to stay awake,” Kurapika says frantically, shaking Leorio gently. “Come on. I don’t know if I can carry you!” 

“Mmm,” Leorio replies sleepily. He leans against Kurapika’s chest, nodding off. “You’re so nice n’ warm though. Let’s stay here.” 

“Please, darling, you need to stand up,” Kurapika pleads. “Only a few steps, my love.” 

Leorio looks at him in confusion. 

“I can’t understand you when you speak tha’ crazy language, ya know,” Leorio slurs, and Kurapika realizes he has slipped into Kurta again. 

“Come on, you big moron. We need to move,” Kurapika offers in the correct language, heaving Leorio to his feet. Leorio obliges, testing his weight and feeling his shoulder gingerly. 

“‘Kay. I think I can walk. That fisherman should still be there.” 

Kurapika has no idea how much time passes as they trudge back towards the ocean. The snow has stopped, and the stars blaze overhead. Leorio leans on Kurapika every few feet but seems okay; his color is good and his breathing is strong. Kurapika wills them both forward with cajoling and pleading and insulting until they reach the rocky cliffs. The sea is calm, reflecting the starlight on its glassy surface. 

Sure enough, an irate fisherman is waiting with a tugboat, chain-smoking and swearing under his breath as Kurapika lugs Leorio down the boulders and onto the deck of the ship. 

“Tch. Don’t get me tied up in this crap, you hear?” 

The fisherman spits his cigarette into the ocean and starts the engine. 

“Yeah. Whatever you want. We have cash,” Kurapika mutters. “Just take us back to the city. Hurry. Get us a cab once we arrive.” 

He fumbles in his dress pockets for his wallet and throws a pile of Jenni at the fisherman. The fisherman looks down at it and shrugs, lighting another cigarette. 

“Fine by me. Is he dead?” 

The fisherman gestures towards Leorio, who has fallen asleep against the bench. 

“No. Just very tired,” Kurapika says, and he closes his eyes and leans against Leorio as the boat chugs back towards the mainland. 


End file.
